


Past Mistakes

by DeepSeaChallenger



Category: Assassin's Creed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 22,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4277175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepSeaChallenger/pseuds/DeepSeaChallenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor finds Haytham's journal before the final confrontation, and slowly begins to understand the Grandmaster in a better light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got to thinking about this while reading Haytham's journal, it's the Forsaken book by Oliver Bowden. I can't figure out why his middle name is 'E', other than 'Edward'. I don't own Assassin's Creed, the books, or its characters.

"Grandmaster, Sir?" Charles knocks on the doorframe and peers in, almost tentatively.  
I curse and look around. "Yes?"  
"The horses are ready."  
"I'll be there in a moment."  
"Yes."  
He disappears from the door, and I drop to my knees, peering under the chair. Not here. It's not on the desk, either.  
Another curse. It can't be gone. It was just here last night.  
Charles is back. "Grandmaster, we must go if we intend to be at Lexington to meet Davis brothers."  
The Davis brothers are blacksmiths and weaponry suppliers to the Colonial Rite, and they choose to stay in Lexington, making it more difficult for me to check the inventory every month.  
"I understand, Charles." I try to bite back the sharp tone. And fail. But this isn't his fault. The first time I've lost my journal since.... since I was nine, after fire that took my home and burned away my childhood? I couldn't really control that, but-  
No.  
It's the first time I've lost my journal.  
"Sir...."  
Damn it, Charles. "I'm coming."  
I stand and gather the rest of my belongings, pausing in the doorway with a hand on the door for a quick scan of the room  
"Are you missing something?" Charles picks up on my hesitation. One day someone will teach him not to be so... nosy.  
What am I thinking? That's good. He needs to be perceptive.  
"Yes and no. Yes because it belongs to me, and no, because it's none of your concern."  
The way he shrinks back and nods, I know he took it the wrong way.  
I grit my teeth and pull the door shut. "Let's be quick about this. No more than a week."  
"It's the fourth, sir. I can see to it we are back by the eleventh."

 

The Green Dragon isn't a very large building, just around the regular height you'd expect a smaller scale inn to be.  
I asked Achilles for help with the hunt for Charles Lee, and this is where he directed me.  
Stay a while, Connor, he chided, you'll see the city, and with a little luck, you'll hear everything you need to know.  
Sure, I had growled, I intend to be back by the eleventh.  
It's the fifth, today. Six days to glean any information on that bastard.  
I sigh and lower myself off the horse, and untie my saddlebag. I don't intend to stay more than a week. As wonderful as Boston looks, its people are hardly welcoming. Especially not to large young men with hoods.  
I push open the door and halt as the smell of whiskey reaches me.  
A lively place, for drinking, I see. A woman spots me (She's isn't the skinniest, not to sound rude.) and rushes over, holding a bottle of wine.  
"Looking for a room, sir?"  
I force a smile and nod. "A week."  
"Right up there. Pick any old room; most people come for the drinks." She turns and hoots at a group of rowdy men to keep it down. "Do you need help with anything?"  
"No... thank you." I push gently past her and start up the stairs. It's much quieter upstairs, and in the corner there's a lone man sleeping with a book in his lap.  
I push open a door- someone throws a pillow at me with a surprised gasp- and slam it shut, cringing and yelping an apology. The next room is clearly occupied, although whoever has rented it is absent at the moment. The last door I come too is closed, but when I open it, there is nothing to suggest anyone has claimed this.  
With a sigh I toss the saddlebags onto a wooden chair and pull back the windows. It's nearly midnight. A time for loosening lips. Well.  
I look over my shoulder at the sound of raucous laughter coming from the first floor. I'll stay up here tonight. I wonder if the mens' tongues will be remain loose until morning.  
My tomahawk slips from its place at my belt and falls with a thump onto the floor by the bed, missing my foot by an inch.  
I curse and reach to get it, then pause.  
Something brown is under the bed, only visible if I lean down.  
Maybe the room is occupied?  
I replace my tomahawk and crouch, feeling with my hand under the bed for the brown thing. My fingers brush what feels like dusty leather, and I try to close my hand around it for a few moments.  
Once I have it, I tug it out onto the floor, bending over it with a raised eyebrow. It's a book.  
It's bound tightly with a strip of string, and its covers are made of leather. A thick layer of dust covers it, but I can tell it hasn't been here long.  
I undo the string, freezing when my fingers scrape the other side of the leather book, the side I can't see.  
Something is inscribed on the leather.  
I carefully turn the book over in my hands and stare in shock at the name etched in boyish handwriting, probably written when he was young.  
Haytham E. Kenway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mina and dani; Thanks for the reviews! ;)

Charles will not stop talking.  
We've been riding straight through then night; surely we're almost there. I hope so. There's not much I can do to keep his tongue from flapping, the man just seems so irritatingly talkative.  
"Is something bothering you?"  
"No, Charles."  
"But you have this look, sir."  
"No. Thank you, Charles."  
He sits back in his saddle with a look of thoughtfulness.  
"I think Lexington is a mile away, sir."  
"You don't have to call me that every time."  
"Sir?"  
I sigh. He has a way of peering up at his superiors almost like a jealous child.... An insistant one. "Sir. You've said it three times in the last twenty seconds."  
He blinks. "Yes... Grandmaster."  
I want to nag at him for that, too, but there's no point. He is not the cause of my irritation. The one time I lose that bloody journal... I hope we get back to the Green Dragon as soon as possible. If someone finds it I likely won't get it back.

I put the journal down.  
He started with his name. An Arabic name for an English boy. An English name for a Native boy, I think. I didn't know anything about him until I opened it. His roots, his name, his parents- I don't even know what the 'E' stands for.... Maybe I'll understand why he's a Templar.  
The sun is beginning to rise. Have I been reading that long? I study the journal and slip it under the pillow of the bed. I really shouldn't have opened the thing. My father wound probably kill me if he found out. Well... not if I finish him first. No, that thought was cruel. I'll admit.  
I trot down the stairs and hold my breath as I reach the first floor. That will not last me longer than forty seconds, although it doesn't really matter how strong the alcohol scent is. I'll have to breathe again eventually and besides, no one else seems to notice it.  
The first man I come across is bent over a table, mumbling something under his breath to another.  
I lean against the wood of the stairs and strain my ears, listening.  
".... said he was going to those blacksmith brothers down in Lexington....."  
Already I've stopped listening, my thoughts turning again to that journal. Does he know I have it? No, he probably doesn't.  
"Those Scottish lads, right?"  
"No, the English ones. Get yer head out of yer arse, Buford."  
That does not narrow my search. Thank you, half drunk man, for your not very helpful information.  
I look around then rest of the inn. It's filled with the quiet murmerings of almost a dozen conversations. The owners argue in the corner, something about who's taking care of the chores. They have an odd way of relaxing when someone new walks in.  
I scan the inn one last time. No one here is a Templar. I'll probably have to look somewhere else. The docks, perhaps.  
Well... Suddenly the curiosity becomes too much. I slowly walk over, to where the two owners argue.  
"You can kiss my ass, you sonuva-"  
The man stops talking and looks up at me, plastering on a smile. I inwardly applaud him for the sudden change of demeanor.  
"Hello, sir. What can we help you with?"  
"I just want to know if someone stayed here..." I need to find a better way to word this. "Can you tell me if you've ever housed a Haytham Kenway?"  
The woman looks back at the man and nods. "Yes, not very long ago. Yesterday, was it?"  
He nods. "Aye. They left in the morning, to Lexington for a week."  
He was here mere hours before I arrived. That journal will be fresh in his mind, if he lost it.  
I wonder what to do when he gets back. I'll still be here, unless my patience wears thin.  
Maybe it's better that I do what Achilles expects me to do and hunt for Charles Lee.  
But that can wait.  
I go back upstairs and gently slip the journal out from under the pillow, then settle back into the chair to read.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the book, Haytham put on a cloak and hood and went to Connor's hanging, intending to save his life. When the rope was severed, it didn't have enough give to fully snap. Haytham threw a knife at it and cut the rope, then escaped.

It's not here.  
I straighten up from the floor and hang my head, cursing. A week after leaving it at this damned inn, it looks to be gone for good.  
Charles knocks on the door and peers in. "Sir, Master Cormac claims to have found an Aritfact farther north. Shall we go?"  
I wave my hand. "Fine, fine. We'll leave tomorrow."  
"Aye."  
He closes the door and I wait until his footsteps vanish into the din of the bar downstairs, then drop to my knees and look under the bed. There's less dust in the middle of the floor, and it looks as though something square was pulled out from beneath the bed.  
It can't be the journal, though. Right?  
I pull open the door and hurry downstairs, looking around for one of the Green Dragon owners. I spot the man bent over the bar, gazing in earnest at a bottle of rum.  
"Excuse me." I say simply, and tap his shoulder.  
He turns to me with a look of questioning. "Can I help you?"  
"Has anyone stayed in the room on the second floor, first door to the right, in the week I've been gone?"  
He shrugs. "We don't press for records as long as we get pay."  
"Do you remember?"  
"No."  
I growl through my teeth and sigh. The trail is cold. I'll end up writing the rest of my life on a piece of bark. Alright... that may have been a slight exageration, but I'm worried here.  
"Charles, saddle the horses. We'll leave for the north tonight." I know he is behind me by the sound of his nervous footsteps against the wood floors.  
"Yes, sir."

One week after I should have picked up some sort of lead (I eventually gave up and went home, eager to see if he'd come for it.) , I arrive back at the Homestead, ignoring an inquiring glance from Achilles, who stands on the road, his hands on his staff.  
"Connor." He asks, as I pull open the door.  
"Yes."  
"Did you find anything?"  
"About Charles Lee? No."  
"Ah, but you did." He says back.  
I turn and stare at him. "How so?"  
"You look conflicted."  
"I'm not conflicted."  
"Connor."  
"Achilles."  
We stare at each other for a moment, then he hobbles over and puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's about your father."  
My mind drifts to the journal I have tucked away in my coat. I have yet to finish it, but I know I am close to the last entry date.  
"No."  
"I know you well enough to understand what this is about. You gained nothing on Charles, but you have discovered something about your father."  
He sees right through me. I wonder if one day I'll be like that.  
"Something important." He says softly. "What is it you found?"  
"His journal..... at the inn you directed me to..... Why does he remain a Templar? So many have turned against him or deceived him, Achilles."  
"I don't know."  
"Everyone. Reginald, Benjamin Church, and I was angry at him for killing the man. If he had told me his motives..."  
"Connor, did he write about you?"  
My shoulders drop. "They withheld information about the fire that killed the others. Do you remember the hanging, Achilles? When they tried to kill me for Washington?"  
"Yes...."  
"The rope didn't break enough. He finished it off. He saved my life."  
Achilles bites his lip. "Does this change your view of him?"  
"No. Yes. No. Maybe... I don't know. He didn't stand a chance. So close to being an Assassin."  
He smiles at me. "Understand your enemies, Connor. Always."  
I don't ask him what it means. I no longer view my father as an enemy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voil; Thanks!  
> dani; ;)

"Sir? Shall we go?" Charles asks from his horse.  
I put a hand on the horse's neck and gaze at it for a moment. I told him we were going to leave tonight. Looking back, I realize I didn't tell him the truth.  
"It's late. We'll go tomorrow morning."  
"But, Sir, you-"  
I silence him with a glare. "Charles."  
He looks away, but not before I catch a glimpse of the disdain flashing in his eyes.  
"Yes, Grandmaster. We shall go tomorrow."  
I nod and get to work unsaddling my horse. I need to that journal back. It's worth too much. Cormac and whatever prize he's found can wait.  
"Tomorrow evening." I say, and throw my saddlebag over my shoulder. He looks confused, but nods.  
I need time to at least have an honest search for the journal.  
I push open the doors and look around. There, arguing by the tables.  
".... you no good..."  
The Green Dragon owner grows quiet as I approah. The poor man taking her vocal attack turns and smiles. "Master Kenway."  
"Can I help you?" The woman says slowly, as though I need more time to understand.  
"You can." I draw the words out as much as I can without sounding too spiteful, and give her a taste of her own medicine.  
If she is bothered by my antic, she doesn't show it. "What is it?"  
"I asked him about this recently." I motion to the man beside her, and he nods, looking more curious than he ought to be. "But do you recall anyone staying here in the last week, after me?"  
"Well...." The woman shrugs. "The was a Native lad who came in almost a day after you."  
"There was?" Asks the man beside her. She cuffs his arm.  
"Yes, you dolt. You must have the brain of a goldfish...." She realizes I'm still standing here and nods at me. "He stayed in the same room, I think. Don't know what he was doing in there, he didn't come out for hours at a time."  
I thank her and leave the inn, feeling somewhat more confident I'll get my journal back. Now that I have an inkling of knowledge as to who has it, I don't intend to waste time.  
I nod to Charles and climb onto my horse, enjoying the barely-masked irritated pull of his mouth. He's too used to getting things the way he wants them.  
You'll be killed for that, someday, Charles.  
I leave Boston and lead my horse through the frontier, finally choosing to make camp in a small meadow. There isn't any time to search for Connor anymore, so I light a fire and try to get some sleep.

 

I draw back the bow and step forward, ignoring the crunch of the frost beneath my feet. I need to be careful. The fire I see in the distance could be redcoat, or some lone hunter. Maybe this isn't a very good idea. Achilles was still awake when I woke up, sometime after midnight, and couldn't fall back asleep. He warned me going hunting may not be the best idea. But it calms my thoughts and cools any anger I am nurturing for some time.  
So what did I do?  
I went hunting.  
As I approach, the brown horse tied to the tree looks at me for a moment, chewing the grass it's pulled up from beneath the fallen leaves. Then it snorts and paws the ground.  
I curse and drop the bow, removing my tomahawk from my side.  
It's too late.  
The owner of the horse jumps up, a handful of dirt clutched in their hand. A handful of dirt which happens to be aimed at my eyes.  
I jump away and draw my hand back, swinging blindly with the tomahawk.  
There is muffled curse and someone grasps my wrist, turning it in such a way the weapon falls from my hand and lands on the forest floor with a dull thump.  
I rub my eyes with my free and look into the face of the man who holds my wrist in such a painful position.  
My father glares back at me, his brow knit.  
I pull my hand back and stumble away, one of my fists up. Still, there's no way I can kill him now. I've learned too much.  
"Father." I say curtly.  
He crosses his arms. "You could have announced your presence."  
"I had no idea who you are."  
He crouches and picks up my tomawhawk, passing it back and forth between his hands. Impatience. Nervousness?  
"Well." I growl. "Give it back."  
He throws the tomahawk to his right, and I hear a thunk as the blade embeds itself in a tree trunk.  
"There."  
"That was uncalled for."  
"I know."  
"So why did you throw it?" I pick up my bow and slide the arrow back into its quiver.  
He makes a sound of annoyance. "Please, Connor, what is it you're doing out here?"  
"I have every right. I have a reason. Unless you're here on some Templar business, there's nothing for you."  
The corner of his mouth lifts in a snarl. "You'd like to think that, don't you? I do have business here, and it has nothing to do with the Templars."  
I narrow my eyes as though I'm suspcious. I know what he's talking about. The journal.  
"You were hunting." He says.  
"Yes." I reply. "Tell me what you're looking for."  
"Something."  
"That is not an answer." Achilles always uses this trick on me.  
He rolls his eyes. "You would be of no help."  
I can see it in his steely gray eyes. He knows I have it. I know he wants it.  
"The journal."  
His gaze snaps to me, and I can hear the mock surprise. "You have it?"  
"You were going to be an Assassin." I circle him slowly, and he doesn't turn around, just looks to the left and right as I walk by. "But Edward died before that could happen. You were set up by Reginald and it's his fault your father died. His fault you're a Templar. Almost everyone has turned against you in the Order."  
He is getting angry. I can see it in the way his hands are twitching.  
"And yet you remain."  
This time he looks up. He knows exactly what I said, because Ziio said those words to him almost twenty years ago.  
"You read it."  
"I was waiting for you to catch on."  
"I want it back."  
"Not until you tell me why you remain."  
He sighs loudly. "Really, Connor? You know everything about me, now. There's no reason for you to keep it."  
I stop and walk toward him, until I am looking right into his eyes, inches from his face. "I will keep it, because there is reason. For all the things I've learned about you, I still have no idea why the hell you stay with the Templars. The Assassins would accept you.... Your father- Edward was a respected Assassin."  
He stares at me.  
"Do you want to know how I learned that? Through Achilles."  
"And?" He snaps.  
"Why don't you join us?"  
Alright. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I know exactly where I got my stubbornness from, and it was not my mother.  
My father eyes me for a moment, and a tense silence settles between us. Something is going on behind those gray eyes. Good or bad, I can't say.  
"And what makes you think it so easy?" He says quietly. "Do you believe I can just leave the Order?"  
With nothing left to do, I nod. Relief fills me. Maybe- Maybe- I won't have to kill him.  
For a minute he just looks at the ground, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.  
"Edward James Kenway. He went on to become one of the finest Assassins in the West Indies, after Ah Tabai and Adéwale." I'm pushing it. But Achilles seemed thrilled to be realize my connection to Edward. He was good friends with Adéwale, until he, too, fell to the Assassin Hunter.  
My father looks up.  
And makes his decision.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> voil; Yep, final was unfinished- There was a glitch or something where I couldn't type anything more. Rather than delete and retype (It took up at least forty five minutes to write) I posted and chose to wait and see if it went away. Which it did :) And I'm glad you're enjoying this!

My son stares at me expectantly.  
What am I supposed to say, 'Yes, Connor. I want to become an Assassin.'?  
Well.  
The tomahawk I threw at the tree comes loose and falls to the ground, with a loud scraping noise. Connor doesn't tear his gaze away.  
He's right. Most everyone I've known in the Order has either betrayed or deceived me, save the Assassin Hunter. But the people within the Order have nothing to do with it. It's my personality. I'm Haytham Kenway, the man, not the boy. The boy died the night he plunged a sword into the eye of his mother's attacker. But maybe I can bring him back to life.  
Unwittingly, my mind goes back to the day I pulled a hood over my head and went to Connor's hanging, ready to sever the rope.  
That was the Assassin. Not the Templar.  
For a moment I keep perfectly still, seperating and sorting in my mind. Templar ideals. Assassin ideals. The Templars preach order and structure, and seek to enslave the opposes. The Assassins preach freedom and fraternity, and they value the gaining of knowledge.  
Haytham Kenway, the boy, liked that. He liked the passing on of knowledge. He misses it. I miss it.  
So I open my mouth.  
And I utter the words only the boy would speak.  
"Teach me, Connor."

I have to bite my tongue to keep my mouth from falling open.  
He wants to join? To work with the Assassins.... still. I have to be sure, and my father's such a well guarded man I'll need Achilles' help. That man can see through any deception.  
Yet, like an idiot, I ask the most redundant question I've ever asked. "Why?"  
He keeps his eyes locked on mine, and I see a new ferocity. This is the Haytham I've never seen.  
"Connor, they have taken three people from me. No reason was ever truly given."  
I know who those people are. His mother, his father, and my mother, Ziio.  
"Come with me." I say hesitantly, turning my back to him to pick up my tomahawk. He has ten second opportunity to kill me, presented to him on purpose. He does not take that opportunity.  
It's a start.  
"Where are you going?" He looks toward his horse, and I shake my head.  
"It's within walking distance. Leave Scratch here."  
He gives a loud sigh, clearly annoyed by the unnesassary proof I have read his journal. "Do you intend to give my journal back?"  
"Once I've proven something."  
"Son, please. What is it?"  
"You'll find out."  
"Oi. This isn't fair."  
I suppress a laugh. Already he is acting different. Curiosity is not something I expect of Templars. It is an Assassin trait, one that Achilles values the most.  
We trudge through the woods for a while, and I think it rather comical to hear him jump at every growl or sqawk that echoes through the trees.  
"The Homestead." He finally says, coming up beside me. "That's where you're taking me."  
"Just through those trees. Can you see it?"  
"Aye." He cranes his neck and looks ahead. "Achilles."  
The name sounds nervous. Something is wrong.  
"What?" I stop and cross my arms.  
"Nothing." He mirrors my position and we both stand still for a heartbeat, until I finally sigh and keep going. If anything has gone on between them, Achilles will let me know.  
I hold up a hand for my father to wait behind me and push open the door, ready to greet Achilles. The old man beckons me in from the main room.  
"Come in. And bring your father."  
I turn and motion to him. He looks surprised- I know he heard from outside- and follows me, tentatively crossing his arms behind his back.  
"No." I shake my head at him. "Hands where I can see them."  
"You really don't trust me." There's a plea in there, somewhere.  
"I will let Achilles be the judge of that. Go into the room."  
"Connor, I can't." He freezes just before entering the main room and shakes his head.  
I peer into the main room, where Achilles sits with a book, his crutch leaning on the wall.  
"Connor, remove your weapons." He doesn't look up from the book. Already I can see he doesn't have anything equipped, either.  
"Why?"  
"Do not question me." He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "Well? Go."  
I growl through my teeth and out my weapons into the closet. "He's in the hallway... I think he's changed." I say. Achilles understands right away what I mean.  
"Haytham, get your arse in here."  
My father steps in, his head down, his arms by his sides. Something has transpired between these two. I can feel it.  
Achilles folds his arms across his chest and slowly smiles. "Still carrying that pistol."  
My father goes rigid.  
"Is it loaded?"  
"Achilles...?"  
"Is it loaded?" He presses, drawing out the words.  
"Y-yes, it is loaded."  
"Remember when you shot me that day on the ice? My knee, and you can see I didn't forget."  
That's how he got his limp, I realize. My father shot him.  
Suddenly I don't want to be in the room, but I force myself to stay. Achilles is analyzing him.  
"I'm sorry."  
Achilles suddenly looks suprised, but the expression is just as quickly replaced by feigned indifference. "Are you?"  
My father raises his head and motions to the crutch. "Yes. I am."  
Achilles stands and holds up my father's Hidden Blade arm. The blade glows dully in the dim light.  
"Kill me, then."  
"Achilles!" I snap, tensing. Does he not know how many prisoners my father has killed? For no reason at all? Killing Achilles has an advangate; there's even more purpose for my father to kill him.  
Haytham stares long and hard at his blade, then looks at Achilles. "No."  
"Kill me, Haytham."  
"No."  
I start to relax. This is new. This is.... really new.  
Achilles slowly lowers his arm. Nods.  
"You have stayed your blade from the flesh of the guilty." He smiles. "You will wake at dawn tomorrow and practice hiding in plain sight. I will not be disappointed."  
Haytham's eyes dart to me, then settle back at Achilles. "The Order will come looking for me."  
"And you will be ready for them, as will I."  
My father has an expression I can't read. Caught between nervous and thoughtful.  
"Go bring your horse to the stables. Leaving the Order with no warning is better than leaving with a weeks' notice." I say to him. He nods and seems to scramble for the door like an excited schoolchild.  
When I hear the door shut I look to Achilles.  
"Why did you disarm us? Do you know what he could have done?"  
There is forgiveness in Achilles' eyes. "He could have killed me. He probably would have at least attempted to kill you. He knew we are unarmed. I gave him the perfect chance to kill me, Connor. And did he take it?"  
I shift my feet. "No."  
"He is your responsibility. I expect you keep him in line with the tenets of our Creed. Do you know what happens to most assassin and Templar turncoats?"  
"I don't."  
"They become revolutionaries."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon_lord_Loki1; Yup I usually update once a day :)

It's almost morning when I ride Scratch back onto the Homestead.  
Connor and Achilles wait for me, standing by the door.  
I remember Adéwale's words when we fought before the Assassin Hunter put an end to his life. I am becoming half the man my father was. Maybe even three fourths. A whole, if I can help it.  
As I dismount and walk to the two standing by the door, I feel a sense of hesitation. Will Achilles bring up the Assassins that have died on my command, or by my hand? Adéwalé was definitely a loss....  
He doesn't.  
"You have a place to stay?"  
"He does." Connor mumbles.  
I cast him a sharp look. He read that in the journal. Which he still has. Which I want.  
"You can stay here or there, it matters not. Although I prefer you here at least half the week for your training." Achilles continues. Training? "Ordinarily I would be the one teaching you, but now...."  
"I will." Connor smiles, and it's the first sign that he trusts I won't do anything. And I won't. I no longer believe the Assassins to be completely careless. They have order, too... just not as intense as the Templars preach. "My room is upstairs. You can stay there while you're here."  
My son turns and opens the door, gesturing for us to follow him inside.  
Achilles waves a hand. "I have something for you. Follow your son."  
I step in after Connor and watch as he pulls a lever on the wall, revealing a doorway that leads into what I automatically think to be a cellar.  
Achilles hobbles down the stairs- it strikes me as awkward, because I am the man who crippled him, yet he seems to be more trustful than ever- and beckons to me and Connor.  
"You'll like it." Connor says, judging my shoulder.  
I finally step down the stairs and we come to a stop in what looks like an underground training center.  
In the middle there is what looks like a scarecrow, and against the wall there hang a collection of paintings.  
I recognize the images before I read the names painted on the bottom, and stare at the crossed out image of Ben, Hickey, and William. There is a separate painting to the side, one I immediately place as the Assassin Hunter. His name, like Charles Lee, is underlined.  
What is more worthy of my surprise is the painting of myself, with my name beneath it.  
Achilles stands beside me, and I hear Connor behind him.  
"We'll take it down, once we're sure."  
"Sure of what?" I ask. Stupid. I know what Achilles means.  
"Once we're sure if this change is real-" Connor taps my shoulder and finishes for Achilles. "Or faux."  
It's not. I want to tell him that. But what's a better way to convince someone I am what I'm not. And I find it more and more difficult to see things the Templar way now.  
Achilles turns and walks to the center of the small dust ring in the middle of the room.  
Right away I realize what he is heading for, the small scarecrow in the middle. Originally, I assumed it was just dark cloth hanging around it.  
Now I see what it is, navy blue and black robes. The hood is what catches my eye. It is beaked, like Connor's, and in gold stitching, rather than a hawk, there is a wolf.  
"These belonged to one of my students, before he became a full Assassin." Achilles taps the hood. "Kesogawasse. He was a big man, like the both of you."  
I can hear Connor's grin. "Try them."

I watch my father's face shift from surprised to curious and back to surprised.  
He turns and looks at me, then Achilles. "Me."  
"Yes, you, is anyone home?" Achilles raps his knuckles gently against the back of his head.  
"Why?"  
I suppress a laugh. "Just try them, Father. When we know you speak the truth, they are yours."  
"Come and show us when you've donned them." Achilles says with a knowing smile. He motions to me and I follow, wondering what my father will look like with a hood.  
It isn't long before I get my answer. He peers into the main room not long after, his gray eyes questioning.  
Achilles drops his book onto his lap. "Quit being shy. It ill becomes of a Kenway."  
My father steps in, his hands limply at his sides. The primary color of the robes are navy blue, black and gold mixed in. Around his waist is a red sash and leather belt, a sword and pistol hooked to it. He has exchanged Miko's Hidden Blade for a simple fingerless leather glove, and I can see the Blade glowing where the candlelight hits it.  
I smile. If he has changed, I am eager to teach him our ways, the ways of the Assassins.  
Achilles gestures to me. "Spar with him."  
Both of us cast a startled look at him.  
"I want to study your actions in battle." He nods to my father. "And your skill against your father's." A nod in my direction.  
We both pull up our hoods- when I see my father in his hood, I think of a wolf, and I know when he sees me, he thinks of an eagle- and stand in the center of the room, our hands out.  
"Begin." Achilles crosses his arms and watches as we fight, pausing before we land a blow that would be deadly.  
We end with my arm to my father's throat, the Hidden Blade engaged. He closes his eyes and sighs.  
"Well done, the both of you. Connor, you need to work on your pivot. Use your feet more often. And you, sir," He looks at my father, "You fight like a Templar. You rely on your blade and speed. Use your other limbs as distraction. That's why you have four."  
Achilles finally pauses. "I could go on for hours, but this is where I must stop. Connor, take him to Boston."  
"But the Templars will come flocking to me-" He begins.  
"That is the point of the hood. Bring me back some bread and apples."  
I nod. Achilles knows we will be searched for and probably found by Templars. He wants to see if we can maintain a goal while working together to defend against enemies.  
I pull open the door and beckon to my father.  
This will not be easy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon_lord_Loki1; :D

It is late when we reach Boston, almost midnight.  
A group of redcoats pass us, giving both me and my son sour looks as they walk by. I wonder if Connor still regards me with the same disdain.  
"Achilles wants us to get bread and apples for him."  
"That's not really what he wants, is it?"  
Connor gives a thin lipped grin. "I suppose you know how he is."  
He dismounts his horse and ties her to a hitching post, then does the same with Scratch as I climb off.  
"The general store is around the corner," He motions further up the street. "Pull up your hood. Even though you left without warning, they'll have reason to suspect where you went."  
I'm still not used to the beaked part of the hood. It dangles before my eyes, almost mocking me. Still, I pull it up and watch as my son does the same and starts walking, keeping his eyes on the people at all times. It takes a while before I realize why. He's scanning for Templars.  
I don't have the heart to tell him it doesn't matter. We had eyes and ears everywhere. Even non-Templars could be enlisted to keep an eye open for a certain hooded figure.  
When we reach the general store, my son looks around before giving me a bag of coins. "I'll wait here."  
I pull open the door, lower my hood, and peer inside. It's a well lit place, but the amount of people inside is nearly nonexistant. "Aye. And Connor... be careful."  
I hear him as I shut the door. "And you, as well, Father."  
Once I'm inside, I have a chance to look around, and without meaning to, I notice someone.  
Charles Lee stands in the corner, his back turned. He flips through something on the rotted wooden table before him.  
I grind my teeth and search for the supplies Achilles asked for.  
While I pay for the food, I study his actions. He suddenly stops what he's doing, like he's detected someone.  
Someone wearing the navy blue robes of an Assassin.  
I lower my head and thank the owner of the store, taking the bread and apples in one hand.  
Charles Lee turns just as I reach the door, and I hear a muffled exclamation of surprise before I slam it shut.  
My son is nowhere to be found. I scan the streets and call his name, and am met with no reply.  
I drop the apples and bread and look into the alleys, then crane my neck and study the rooftops. Nothing.  
Connor is gone.

The general store Achilles typically sends me to- the one we were at- is within view of the docks. I always enjoyed listening to the sound of the sea and the singing crews, and wonder what a ship was named and why. I had been surprised to see a ship slide into port, looking rather fearsome for something I am sure was a brig.  
The anchor was weighed, and as I watched, a man clambered off.  
Then I recognized the ship's sails and the figurehead that graced the bow.  
It was the Morrigan, the ship of the Assassin Hunter.  
Insticnctively I had unsheathed my blade, and felt a certain satisfaction at the thought of his downfall.  
My father was still inside, and I wondered, if I moved fast enough, whether I could be back to hail him when he came out.  
So, without stopping to at least tell him where I was going and why, I took to the rooftops and watched the Hunter walk through the streets of Boston, heading for the inn.  
The Green Dragon.  
I had been about to turn back and get my father- If he had truly cast his lot with the Assassins, he would help me kill him- when something struck me over the head, and blackness engulfed my vision.  
So now I am here, crouched on the floor of an empty warehouse, guarded carefully by several men, all holding muskeys and arms to the teeth.  
After some time, my waiting comes to an end when the Assassin Hunter bursts in, followed by several others... one I recognize as the Templar Grandmaster of Spain.  
There was a rapid exchange of Spanish between the Spanish Grandmaster and a few of the men that walk beside him, before the Amssassin Hunter removes a knife from his side and kneels before me, his teeth exposed in a grin. I wonder what he would look like if a few of those went missing.  
"Do you think yourself clever?" The Spanish man says behind him in broken English. "Trying to take information from a Native boy- and Assassin, no less- Preposterous!"  
The Hunter presses the knife to my throat, and I lift my head to avoid being nicked by the blade.  
"What's more preposterous is your English." He rolls his eyes without looking at the Grandmaster, even though it's directed at him. "He is Haytham's son. He should know where to find him."  
"Who says I want anything to do with the bastard?" I growl, pretending not to know where he went and why... Pretending to hate him."Do you know the things he's done?"  
The Assassin Hunter doesn't look fazed. "I have carried out some of those things. He is our Grandmaster, and you will give us his location."  
As he says 'will', he presses with the knife, far harder than necessary. My eyes catch a flicker of movement above him. Ah, see. My father isn't a good tracker by any means, but he's a marvel when it comes to loosening tongues, and then chopping them off.  
"No," I give him my own crooked smile. "I won't."  
His eyes suddenly widen, and he drops the knife, staggering back. "Get out!" He shouts at the Templars. "Go, you idiots!"  
My father drops something in front of me, and I turn it over, study it. It's an antidote for some kind of poi-  
Oh.  
I lift my hands- they have been tied together- and fumble with the cap before taking a swig.  
Not all of the Templars, including the Grandmaster of Spain and the Assassin Hunter, have escaped the warehouse when a small canister lands on the floor with a hiss.  
Before anyone else can run, they slump over, curled into tight little balls in an effort to protect their faces.  
My father drops down and cuts the ropes around my hands, his hood low over his eyes.  
When my hands are free I thank him and walk around the warehouse, nudging each person to see if they are still alive.  
The Grandmaster, dead. This man with the funny hat. Dead. The Assassin Hunter?  
He lies with his arms over his face, as though covering something. His chest is still, and at first I believe he is dead, until my father, crouches and pulls his hands away.  
The Hunter wears a bandana tied over his mouth and nose, a gas mask.  
My father yanks the bandana down and he coughs before making a feeble attempt to scrabble backward. Not before Father bunches the front of his armor in his fists, bringing the Templar close to his face.  
"You should have stayed with us, Shay. A hood would suit you well."  
The Hunter doesn't answer. His head is lolling and his eyes are closed. My father releases him, and he falls back against the stone floor with a thump.  
"What kind of poison was that?" I ask, as we leave the warehouse.  
"The kind that kills you dead." He sighs. "I don't believe Shay will die or is dead because of it, though. He's survived worse poisons."  
And he's right.  
When we get back to Achilles, he asks us just what the hell took us so long, and why the Grandmaster of Spain has suddenly wound up dead in a warehouse, the Assassin Hunter he was with lying on the floor beside him, unconscious.  
"I applaud whoever did that." Achilles hums, while he stands and watches us spar in the training room beneath the Homestead. "Was it one of you?"  
I shrug, glancing at my father. Tell him what you did.  
He stops mid kick- a comical position- toward my side and looks at Achilles. "... It was both of us."  
"You did this?" Achilles' eyes widen. "Connor? Is this true?"  
"It was just him." I say.  
"You helped." My father smiles. "You gave me a reason to be in that warehouse."  
Achilles turns and studies the paintings on the wall. He slowly removes the Spanish Grandmaster, and allows me to step up and pull my father's painting down.  
"Don't be modest, Haytham. That isn't an Assassin trait."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gothikuk; Glad you like it :)

It's been a few days since we killed the Spanish Grandmaster, and from what we can tell, the Templars are beginning to get angry.  
Not on their own, I have to say.  
We see their rage in the way New York is beginning to look older in a way it never has before; The Assassin Hunter is spending his time Hunting rather than renovating- Hunting us.  
We can see it with the sudden amount of riots that sweep through Boston.  
Right now I sit in the main room, writing this on a piece of paper I'll probably not be able to find tomorrow. Connor is beside me, talking with Achilles while the old man helps Surry cook some sort of stew.  
"We need to be more aggressive," He says. "They won't stop until they're eradicated every last Assassin from these lands.".  
Achilles stops cutting the carrots and leans over the table, his expression thoughtful. "You forget, Aggression will cause them to retaliate further. And have you not noticed? The Assassin Hunter has left us in meager groups scattered through the colonies."  
"What if we were more aggressive, though?" I question. "We can recruit people, no?"  
Connor sighs. "Yes, but they will require training and arms. Currently all but one of the blacksmiths in Boston, New York, and Lexington are aligned with the Templars, and any tailors and butchers know nothing of our cause,nor would they care to fuel it."  
"What if we try a different approach?" I press. "There's a way to be more aggressive with the few people we have."  
"Oh?" Achilles continues cutting the carrots, shaking his head. "Do tell."  
"More attacks under the cover of darkness. More than one man or woman on each mission, start enlisting civilians to listen for anything out of the ordinary."  
Connor nudges my shoulder. "More stealth attacks?"  
"And randomly." I nod at him, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Achilles stop cutting the carrots- again- and cross his arms.  
"It may work. Keep in mind, we need to be careful. No more than three Assassins on any given mission. I'll need you two to go to Boston tomorrow and begin to enlist civilians-"  
Someone pounds on the door, and Achilles holds up a hand, moving to the door.  
Connor and I both follow, and we stand in the doorway of the main room, both craning our necks to see the visitor.  
A young man, soaked with rain, stands in the door, his demeanor urgent.  
"Will, what is this about? Get it here, you're soaking wet!" Achilles steps aside and closes the door, so the young man stands in the hallway.  
"The Templars have a new Grandmaster." Will says. "I was just sent here by one of our contacts."  
"That soon?" I ask.  
Connor shoots me a look. "What do you mean, 'that soon'?"  
"It usually takes three months to incorporate someone as the head of a Rite." I explain quickly. "This time it has only taken two weeks."  
"Silence, both of you." Achilles raises a hand and squints at Will. "Do we know who it is?"  
I have a feeling I do.  
"Aye, sir. It's Charles Lee."

My father puts a hand on my shoulder.  
I growl and cross my arms. "Achilles, we need to find him."  
"I know, Connor, know." He turns to Will. "Do you need a place to stay?"  
"No, sir." Will pulls his hood up, the brown fabric dripping water over his eyes. "I need to head to Lexington next to tell the other Assassins."  
"Luck be with you." Achilles watches the young man go, then looks at both of us. "This does nor come as new news to you, Haytham."  
My father dips his head. "It doesn't. He is what anyone on the street would call an 'ass-kisser'."  
"He slaughtered my people and now he's Grandmaster?" I hiss. "He sure as hell is an ass-kisser!"  
Achilles glares at me. "Connor, such language ill becomes of you. He will be dealt with, you can be assured."  
"No." I clench my fist. "When we finally get the coward's location, I will kill him."  
"I think I know where we'll find him." My father says quietly. "A few weeks ago after I lost the journal- which you still have, Connor- Charles and I went to Lexington to speak with a pair of Templar blacksmith brothers."  
"And your point? Where are you going with this?" I ask.  
"Every month, it is the Grandmaster's job to check with all the major supply providers. I remember the location of the brothers' forge. In two weeks' time, Charles will be there."  
"You're sure?" Achilles inquires.  
"I'd stake my life on it." My father replies honestly. Something flashes in his eyes, and I can see he grinds his teeth before continuing. "I want to help with that man's downfall."  
"And why should you care?" I snarl, sounding more upset than I need to be. The truth of it is, I don't want help in killing Charles Lee. I am the one who suffered the loss of my mother because of that fire.  
He recoils. "Connor, do you think yourself the only one who loved Ziio?"  
Instantly I realize what I've said, how it came across. He is right. I am not the only person who lost someone that day. "No, I'm-I'm sorry. We'll find him together. We'll set this right."  
Achilles bobs his head and smiles. "You Kenways have come to an understanding. Very well. In two weeks, I will send you to Lexington. Haytham,'I expect you and Connor to train every morning. Point out each other's weaknesses, promote each other's strengths."  
My father and I nod.  
And the next morning, without fail, we awake at dawn and come outside, testing our Hidden Blades against each other.  
Neither of us can beat the other.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dani; For Lee?

I dodge a blow from Connor's knee and take the opening to lash at his neck. He jumps back and presses his chin to his chest, the beginnings of a grin upon his lips.  
"Give up yet, Father?" He taunts.  
I growl at him. And aim a stab at his chest. To my surprise, the Blade point sinks through the fabric and I can feel my arm rise and fall as he breathes.  
We both stand still, regaining our breath, shivering in the early morning cold.  
A slow clap reaches our ears, and both my son and I turn, met with the sight of Achilles standing in the open doorway. He finally stops clapping and bobs his head, smiling.  
"You are better than I thought." He turns his attention to Connor. "What did I tell you about that pivot?"  
"I am trying. This man has an annoying habit of stopping me before I even start." Connor says, but there is a good natured tone in his voice.  
"You will have to calm your blood and stay your Blades from each other," Achilles advises. "Your journey to Lexington begins tomorrow."  
"When I was with Revere it took a few hours." My son steps aside and sheathes his blade. "If we go tonight-"  
"Peace, my boy, Lee will be killed, and by your hand." The old man looks thoughtful for a few seconds, then his gaze shifts to me. "What do you think, Haytham?"  
"Me?" Is it worth it to ride into an approaching snowstorm - I can see it over the mountaintops, and it's clearly approaching fast- to exact revenge on a man I once called a friend? He took Ziio away- he killed her and damn near killed my son and then he lied about it. He lied and he knew and the others did nothing to stop him.  
"Father?" Connor questions. "Are you alright?"  
I lift my head and focus on Achilles. "I think we can leave tonight. If we push our horses we can get there in less than twenty four hours."  
"You best saddle your horses now, then, of you intend to beat that storm." Achilles lifts his cane and motions it to the darkening sky.  
Connor nods, and turns to me. "Let's go, Father, and finish what Lee started so many years ago."

Once we have the horses saddled we longer near the Homestead to utter our goodbyes.  
My father looks down at the old man from Scratch. "Thank you for your patience."  
Achilles nods. "I thank you for realizing the right way to do things. Now go. I expect you back within a week, whether there is a dead snake or not."  
He is referring to Charles. I smile. A snake he is. But all but the vilest of snakes can be skinned and turned into something useful.  
"We will be coming back." I say firmly to him, even as my father turns his horse toward the path and the forest.  
He waves his arm. "Shoo! I'll not be pulling your arses out of the snow because you lingered a minute too long."  
I suppress a grin and trot my horse after my father, calling to him to wait. With an impatient flourish of the reins he draws Scratch back and waits for me, his brow knit.  
"Come on. We need to beat that storm to Lexington."  
And so begins our journey.  
*  
The snow keeps piling and piling.  
Beside my horse, a mare I call Blue, Scratch bucks her head, and I hear my father's curse and his calming words to her.  
I have to squint to see him- the snow has turned everything to a sort of whitish blue and it is clear we haven't beat the storm.  
"Connor!" He shouts. "In front of you!"  
I turn my gaze back to face forward and immediately start, so much so that Blue panics and throws me.  
I yelp as my stomach makes contact with a tree branch and I become draped pamifully over it. I can see Blue start off in the other direction, from whence we came. Maybe Achilles will find her.  
I finally fight back the pain enough to drop down on my knees in the snow, grabbing my father's knee and casting my eyes around the snow covered woods.  
Dark figures surround us.  
In the distance behind us, I hear a gunshot and a sharp whinny, and I know that Blue is dead. The thought of her being killed at the hands of... them... is enough to make me squeeze my father's leg so hard he grunts with pain.  
"Do you see them?" I ask hoarsly. They are all on horses, save the two in front of us, and I can't make out their faces in the snow.  
"Aye, Connor." My father replies. "I do see them."  
"Templars."  
One of the figures steps forward, and I see the glint of a cutlass through the blur of snow.  
The Assassin Hunter glares back at me, his breath misting in the cold air.  
"Shay," My father says, with more confidence than I credited him for, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."  
The Hunter grins. "And did you, Haytham? When you left us? And to think, they accepted you with open arms. Tell me, does the old man still hate you for shooting him on the ice?"  
"Quiet, Shay."  
I stiffen, and surreptitiously bring one of my hands to my tomahawk. I know that voice.  
It belongs to the man I have been trained to kill. To the one who murdered my mother.  
"Lee." I hear my father speak, and I can see the nervous tick of his thumb against Scratch's saddle. Is he worried? Angry? Too many emotions cloud his voice to tell.  
Charles steps up beside the Hunter, pushing his shoulder. Shay moves away reluctantly, and I am suddenly reminded of one of Peg-Leg's drunken sea shanties.  
Help me, Bob....  
"Do you know how long I have waited for this?" Charles grins.  
I'm a bully in the alley.....  
"What do you want? To kill us?" I snarl.  
Weigh, hey, a bully in the alley....  
"No, no, no, I believe you can take that up with Shay here."  
Shay snaps the sword. His eyes are dark and betrayed.  
"But." Charles circles around us, and I clench my fist. "If there should be anyone removing anyone's head, I will handle Connor's. You, Shay, will deal with this traitor." He motions to my father.  
"Ah, yes, Haytham." The Hunter shakes his head, and I watch the arrogance fade from its place, replaced by sadness. "Why didn't you stay? Now I have to kill you."  
"No." Charles snaps. "Make him suffer... then kill him."  
These are creatures skilled in the dealings of deaths, these Templars.  
I catch my father's eye, and he gives the slightest of nods.  
No matter.  
Skilled as they are, we are better.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dani; Oh okay xD

I tighten my grip on Scratch's reins and mentally run through a memory of the way Shay fights. More attacking than defence. I have never seen Charles fight, and really, I doubt he can.  
The silence that stretches between us is palpable. The figures that lurk behind the two Templars before us are undoubtedly members of the Morrigan's crew- big, strong men, not even including Gist- and for a moment I am positive there is almost no way out of this....  
Enough. Someone has to break this God damned silence.  
"Well?" I growl. "Are you hear to kill us, Charles?"  
I tap my thumb against Scratch's neck, enough to catch Connor's attention. Judging by the slight nod, I know he gets the message.  
The question took Charles by suprise, and I see the momentary hesitation.  
I take it.  
Praying Connor understood the message, I spur Scratch ahead, and my son lunges forward, clinging to the saddle with both hands.  
Behind us, Charles brays for his Templars to follow us, and Shay whoops, the kind of noise I expect anyone of his nature to make.  
Connor's grip slips, and I grasp his wrist and haul him up, so there are two of us on the saddle.  
"That was messy." He grunts. I hear him slide his bow from his back and prepare an arrow.  
"Connor? What the hell are you doing?"  
I can hear the grin. "Discouraging them."

My father bends low over Scratch's neck, uttering words of encouragement. She can't go any longer than this. Her sides are heaving and her sweat crystalizes in the cold. I twist in the saddle and lift my bow, sighting the first Templar. A young man of no more than twenty five.  
He falls, an arrow clean through his eye.  
I sight another one, this man foolish enough to take to the trees.  
His body falls into the snow beside us, and Scratch rears.  
"Damn it, Connor." My father snaps.  
"Go." I say plainly, already sighting another.  
The closest Templar to us is the Assassin Hunter- and I realize that Charles Lee is nowhere to be seen. The coward.  
"Why, Haytham? You swore an oath!" The Hunter shouts. His dark eyes are furious and wild. Betrayed.  
I know the feeling.  
My father doesn't reply. He is too busy urging Scratch on, a mixture of shouts and whispers.  
I fit an arrow into the bow and give the Hunter my best smile. Goodbye.  
Suddenly he stops running. Smiles back at me.  
And then I see him reach for a rifle on his back.  
My father turns in the saddle and curses. "Cover your hands and face, Connor."  
"Why?" I ask. Foolish.  
"Because he can shoot-"  
Scratch suddenly screams, stumbling and folding her knees in the snow. I sling my bow around my shoulder, then grab my father's shoulder.  
"We need to run!" I shout at him. He recoils from me and crouches by Scratch.  
"But-"  
"We'll come back."  
He staggers to the left as a bullet strikes the snow, sending up a plume of white.  
Then he jumps to his feet, puling his hood up and grasping my arm, pulling me through the snow.  
And we run.


	11. Chapter 11

We run until Shay's whoops die down behind us and the gunshots begin to fade into the wind.  
We come to rest at the mouth of a cave, hopefully not occupied by some other creature- Connor assures me that if there was a bear, it's been gone for at least a week. Right. Because a week makes me feel much better.  
For a few minutes, the only sound other than the wind whistling past the cave entrance is the quick rasps of our breathing.  
"Achilles." Connor suddenly pushes himself to his feet and draws his tomahawk from his side. "Father, we were at least three hours out from Achilles when they attacked."  
It slowly begins to dawn on me what he means. Shay hasn't been to the Homestead in almost twenty years, as far as I know, but there is no reason for him forget.... If he failed to kill us, his next target would be the old man, and Charles offer him no trouble.  
I stand and roll my eyes impatiently. "Then what are we waiting for? For all we know, they're riding for the Homestead."  
He holds up a hand, turning his head to one side. I don't get it.  
"What?"  
"Listen."  
So I do.  
It starts out as a fleeting growl, then morphs into the sound of feet striking the snow covered ground.  
"Don't move." He whispers.  
We stand still, our hands poised with our weapons. Connor with his tomahawk, me with my Hidden Blade.  
The cave is dark, almost too dark to see, especially after midnight during a snowstorm, but I make out a flicker of movement behind my son a split second before it happens.  
"Connor-"  
He throws himself to the side, landing on his stomach, just as a large gray wolf appears in its place. Froth bubbles along its mouth and its eyes are wide and glazed.  
It snarls at him, then turns its head and stares at me, foam dripping onto the floor of the cave. My father used to tell me not to glare at dogs after an incident involving my hand and his Irish Wolfhound. It is taken as a challenge. So, that's what I do. I meet its gaze with my own and lower my head, baring my teeth and bringing the Hidden Blade close to my face.  
It takes the wolf by suprise. The hesitation isn't very long, but it's long enough that Connor's tomahawk slices through the air, hitting home with a spurt of blood.  
The wolf sinks to the ground, and Connor strides over, putting his foot on its flank and bracing himself against it while he pulls it out of his neck.  
"It was mad." I say, kneeling by it. It stinks of sickness.  
My son nods. "We need to be more careful."  
"Let's go." I turn and sheath my Hidden Blade, peering at my son from beneath the hood. "We should try and stop the Templars before they reach the Homestead."  
"Yes. And what about Scratch?" He asks. "The Hunter shot her with some kind of dart."  
I sigh. "Probably poison. I hope it was a sleep dart. If not, I'll wring his neck and take that little rifle of his for my own. Are you coming?"  
"I am, Okwaho."  
I pause, almost to the mouth of the cave. He just called me wolf.

My father turns his head and looks at me sideways for a moment.  
"Where did that come from?"  
"Your hair is silver, your eyes are gray, your skin is dark, and beneath that hood you look exactly like a wolf." I say. And it's true. Achilles once said I look like an eagle. I always tease him for his remarkable personality similarities to that of a bear. A wolf, a bear, and an eagle. We make quite the trio.  
"Ah." Is all he says.  
We strike out for the Homestead, and this time I take to the tree above him, keeping watch. I don't worry about what might happen if he stumbles across a wolf. He is one already.  
I jump from one branch to another for the next two hours, until I finally grow tired of the practice and drop down beside him.  
"We've passed Scratch."  
"I checked while you were in the trees."  
"She's dead, isn't she?"  
"No. She's just... gone."  
"Do you think the Templars took her?"  
My father shrugs. "Maybe. A dead horse doesn't get up and walk, and I saw no blood."  
"We're almost there." I say. And it's true. In less than half an hour we will be there.  
He nods. "Maybe we can even see the glow from the candles if we find a tree-"  
He grabs my arm and yanks me down onto my belly as a gunshot shatters the night.


	12. Chapter 12

We both lay in the snow for a moment, listening to the sound of the birds shrieking and fleeing the trees.  
"They could have been hunting." Connor whispers hoarsely.  
We both know they aren't hunting.  
"Stay here." I push myself to my feet and start through the snow, ignoring the look of protest he gives me. I know without a doubt he's going to follow me, probably in the trees, regardless of what I tell him. The Homestead is now visible, stark against the dark skies. And just beyond, its flag fluttering peacefully in the wind, is the Morrigan. She's not docked, but she's not moving, either, I note with a sinking heart.  
I turn at the sound of a branch snapping and watch my son fall from the trees into a snowbank.  
"Very stealthy."  
He shoots me a look as he clambers out of the snow. "As if your approach was better. You're in full view of the house."  
He's right about that.  
"Look." I motion to the Morrigan, then engage my Hidden Blade, my gaze going to windows to search for movement.  
"The Hunter's found his Prey." Connor says curtly.  
I lift a hand. There. Top floor, far right. A flash of movement. Heavy, dark leather. Must have been Gist.  
"Not through the front door. Let's go around and climb onto the balconies." My son speaks through clenched teeth.  
"No. We've already been seen." I know they're watching us. There's no way they can't see where we stand.  
"What?" Connor snarls.  
"You heard me. There's no point in doing anything...." I trail off as Charles Lee pushes open the door to the Homestead, holding a pistol in one hand and Achilles' crutch in the other.  
Connor tenses behind me and I step in front of him. It's not worth it. Not yet.  
Charles continues walking forward, his face slowly taking on the look of a man who's arrogance knows no bounds. It's enough to make me want to cut his lips off and feed them to him. I can hear Connor's breathing get deeper and more quick. He's having trouble reigning in his anger.  
Charles srops in front of me and smiles. I stare back, my hood pulled low enough over my face he surely can't see more than a flash of gray.  
"Shay told me he got rid of you and this.... savage you call offspring."  
That was a direct insult to me, Connor, and Ziio. Maybe I'll cram his cock down his throat instead of his lips.  
I force myself to stand perfectly still. There's more than just Charles to think about. Shay and the other could be behind him in the Homestead, and Connor is behind me. Two against a confirmed three.  
"Are you not speaking now? Are you bound not to hurt innocents?" He says sweetly. Mocking.  
"You are not innocent." Connor snarls.  
"Ah, see. Even the savage can speak-"  
This time I lose it, and less than two seconds later Charles rears back, clutching his jaw. I walk toward him, my hands curled into fists and land another blow on his mouth, then catch him in the stomach with my knee.  
It ends with me standing over him, and he is on his knees in the snow, one arm wrapped around his stomach.  
Behind me, Connor stands in stunned silence.  
"Are you sure he's the savage?" I snarl at him. He is in no position to mock me and my 'savage offspring'.  
He looks up at me, and smiles. He's missing at least three teeth. I didn't see them land in the snow; with a twinge of satisfaction I realize he must have swallowed them.  
"Where's the Hunter?" Connor trudges through the snow and crouches by Charles, his anger giving way to something I can't hope to place.  
Charles continues smiling, then struggles to his feet. I let him, throwing out an arm to stop Connor's advance. He won't get far.  
"You're looking at him." Shay calls from the doorway. He smiles sadly and draws his cutlass and knife. "I'll only ask you once to stand down."  
I look at Connor, and he looks back.  
Then we both fix our gaze on Shay and draw our weapons. Me with my sword, Connor with his tomahawk.  
"Ah, well." He shrugs and steps forward, looking very much like the Hunter he is.

I lunge forward, kicking Charles out of my way. He collapses in the snow with a grunt of pain that I ignore.  
The first attack catches him off guard.  
The second attack is his.  
He shoves me back and whirls to face my father, barely bringing his knife up in time to slash at his knee. My father father jumps away and the knife cuts harmlessly through the air.  
My turn.  
I lift the tomahawk with both hands, bringing it down toward his shoulder. It skims through his armor- only a flesh wound, he doesn't make any awknowledgement that he was just cut- and almost knows me off balance.  
The Hunter takes advantage of this and darts forward, his cutlass piercing my robes. I jump back just in time; the blade only leaves a small cut, one that should heal fast.  
My father lunges in, aiming for Shay's chest. The blade lands a hit and sinks in the armor. He yowls and stumbles back, dropping the cutlass.  
I lift the tomahawk, about to end his life-  
"Gist!" The name is raspy as ir escapes his lips, but it's a name, and I see my father balk.  
"Connor." He says sharply. I force myself to look away from the Hunter- he's already incapacited.  
"What?"  
"Gist and his crew. Powerful men, all of them. We need to get out of here."  
Shay laughs, and the sound dies in his throat as he starts coughing. Blood splatters the snow. "And where will you go?"  
My father's eye turn flitnt and he kicks the Hunter in the groin, not stopping to watch him writhe.  
He geabs my arm and pulls me away just as the man named Gist bursts through the door, sword held over his head. A few men follow him out, taunting us. At the sight of them, the Hunter struggles to his feet and starts following us (slowly, at first, but then faster as he realizes he can move unhindered by his wounds.), jumping over Charles' slumped body.  
I start leading my father. "We have to get to the cliffside. We can jump into the water."  
"Jump?" He squeaks.  
I didn't know he has a fear of heights.  
"Yes, jump. A Leap of Faith."  
"But faith isn't enough-"  
We get to the cliff and he skids to a halt, peering down with wide eyes. "Connor, no."  
"Yes." I say firmly. "Behind you-"  
Shay is the first to reach us, and he stops behind my father, pressing his Hidden Blade to my father's neck.  
Gist reaches me before I can fight and does the same, with his sword.  
"Maybe..." The Hunter clenches his teeth. "Maybe I should take your cock for that little action." The his gaze flicks to me and he smiles malaciously. "Or maybe your son can lose his."  
The rest of the Templars begin to catch up.  
We're surrounded.  
"I'd do it here, Captain." The man named Gist says, almost cheerfully. He speaks like a merchant peddling his wares.  
"Do it, then." Shay grins. "And I'll throw his father over the edge of the cliff." I note that when he smiles, there is blood on his teeth.  
"No." I growl. I'm not so afraid for my manhood as I am for my father. If he goes over the edge, I go after him.  
Shay begins walking forward, digging the barrel of his pistol into my father's back, and pressing the Hidden Blade harder against his neck.  
"Anything to say?" Shay asks, and stops with his feet just inches from the cliffside. I struggle against Gist and he pushes the sword into my back.  
"Connor," My father calls over his shoulder. "You're grounded."  
Grounded. Grounded? He's trying to tell me something-  
Then Shay kicks him in the back, sending him stumbling over the edge.  
"Father!" I yowl and tear away from Gist. Shay turns just as I barrel into him, pushing both of us too far over the cliff.  
He eyes widen and he claws at the air.  
Then both of us drop, plunging toward the sea beneath us.  
I throw my arms out, hoping to right myself before I hit the water, and my hand snags something. I can't see what it is- my eyes are closed- but it's strong and curls around my hand-  
"Srop your struggling, Connor."  
My father sits back and heaves me onto the rock ledge. "Sure you weren't sired by some sort of beast? You're bloody huge."  
I smile and flick my eyes down. The Assassin Hunter is nowhere to be seen.  
"Enjoy your swim." I mutter. I know what he meant by 'grounded'. He saw the ledge from where he was and was going to try and stop his fall there.  
"We never got to Achilles."  
"Let's wait to go back until we see them boarding the Morrigan."  
"Connor, Gist is loyal to Shay. He won't leave until they know for certain if he's dead."  
"How do you know so much?" I know he was a Grandmaster. I just didn't know he knew so much.  
He gives me a knowing smile. "You don't just forget these things, son."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RainySpringMorning; Why, thank you :D And yep I will!

We remain on the ledge for a while, gazing with hatred at the Morrigan, which hasn't moved an inch. Well, technically speaking, it has, since it's in the water, and...  
"You defended me." Connor whispers.  
I'm still hesitant to speak- At least half an hour ago we heard enthusiastic shouts from the Assassin Hunter's crew. 'Captain! We thought you were a dead one!' Shay must have climbed out of the water where we couldn't see him- so I shrug.  
"Why?" He continues.  
"You're my son. In my opinion that's a stupid question."  
He laughs quetly. I just made my son laugh? I'll have to write down the date and time. "But is it?"  
"You don't have to ask why."  
He goes quiet for a while. And then, "Did you think she was a savage?"  
Ouch. I pretend that didn't sting. "Would you be offended?"  
"Yah."  
I roll my eyes. If I hadn't known he was speaking Mohawk I would have shut up. "... The first few seconds I was with her, it seemed like it."  
Connor just tilts his head. "What happened after those few seconds?"  
You want to play that game, son? "You've already read about this."  
"I'll give your journal back after a full inspection."  
"Maybe I'll find one of yours." I have no idea if he keeps a journal or not.  
He looks at me with mock horror. "Not my journal!"  
"We should be getting back." I listen, as hard as I can, trying to make out any footsteps or murmers from Templars waiting to ambush us. All I hear is the sound of the gulls and the wind blowing over the snow.  
He nods and stands up, then turns to climb up the rocks. "You want to race?"  
"Race? Up there? I've saved you once from falling, but I won't be able to again if you're on top of me...."  
"But Father....." Connor shrugs and starts up toward the cliff. "I demand a race through the trees."  
"That I can do. Sure you can go against the man himself?"  
Connor sits back on his heels and helps me up onto the snowy cliff.  
The Homestead looms behind us.  
"The route they took was odd. The Morrigan was docked there. They looped around the Homestead, then attacked us only to come back down." I say. There are footprints leading from the cliff's edge, and down toward the forest. I note with pleasure that the ones surely belonging to Shay and Charles are stained red.  
"I wonder if they knew we would set out for Lexington?" Connor asks. He removes his tomahawk and I draw my pistol.  
"It's quite likely. Charles would be making the rounds, he knows I have the scedule memorized. They must have decided to try and kill us before we kill them."  
"Well." My son turns and faces the Homestead. His voice is icier than the snow around us. "They failed."  
In silence we push open the back door. Nothing is out of place. Shay must have known what he was looking for.  
After a brief, panicked search around the house for Achilles and Surry, my son suddenly grasps a candle holder built into the wall and cranks down, revealing the stairs leading to the training room.  
Achilles stands in the door's place, looking like he had been about to open the door.  
"Hmph." He grumbles. "You could have knocked."

Achilles informs us that he had heard the Templars approach and he and Surry had hidden in the training room below.  
"They were looking for something." My father says. "Nothing is out of place."  
We stand in the main room, or arms crossed. I lean to the right, my weight on my right foot. My father mirrors my position beside me.  
"I know that much.... Haytham, you have the amulet."  
"It didn't work in the Temple, though. There's no reason-"  
"They must have found something that it activates." I cut my father off with an apologetic nod.  
"Then we need to stop them." Achilles says firmly. "Tomorrow I want you to go into Boston and inform the entire Assassin Brotherhood."  
My father and I look at each other. "What do you mean... entire?" I ask.  
"There are less than two hundred Assassins. I'll write down their locations for you. If the Templars have found something your father's amulet can activate, we can't let them have it. Until then, I want you two to practice. More footwork with those Hidden Blades. It's not all cut and slash."  
I turn and leave the Homestead, glad to have the time alone so I can make sure the woods are clear of Templars.  
When I get back, my father sits outside on the porch, carving something.  
I forgo taking the front door and instead climb up and suprise him, throwing my hands out.  
He jumps and his hand closes around the wood he was carving before I can see what it is.  
"Why do you insist on doing that?" He asks irritably.  
"Hello to you, too." I respond smugly. "No more Templars out in the woods.... why is it you worked with them in the first place?"  
"You've read that in the journal."  
"Which I still have."  
He nods. "Am I ever going to get it back?"  
"You heard me. Full inspection."  
He shrugs dismissively. "I know, I know."  
I turn and stare out over the forests. "Washington and the Sons of Liberty will ask my help again." The war rages on.  
"Will you give it to them?"  
I close my eyes and sigh. "I'm not sure. I don't want to be stuck on the same horse with Paul Revere again. Every corner, 'go this way!' or 'you're going the wrong way!'"  
"I don't think that's something you'd do though, deny help."  
"Are you sure?"  
The question takes him by suprise. "What do you mean?"  
"Well, are you sure I'd deny help?"  
"I suppose it's up to you, but no, I don't think you would."  
"Do you even know when my birthday is?" I turn back to face him and lean my elbows on the railing.  
He just sits forward and clasps his hands.  
"You don't, do you?"  
It's tomorrow, but I'd wager he doesn't know.  
The next day, when I wake up, there is a beautifully carved wooden anchor, tied to a leather cord, hooked on my door handle.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> voil; No problem :)  
> Theonlymoosewhoeatssalad; Thanks!

I don't usually appreciate being woken up the way Connor does.  
At first I ignore him and flip onto my belly, pulling the sheets up to my back in the process. He continues knocking and I finally get so irritated I slip out of the bed- wearing only pants- and pull open the door.  
"Yes?"  
"You knew."  
"Of course I did."  
"Thank you." He holds up the anchor. "I know why you did it now. Killed him, I mean."  
I'm not sure where he's going with it until I realize that's why he was angry.  
He's have no idea why I did what I did if he hadn't read that bloody journal.  
"When will I get my journal back?"  
Connor stares at me for a moment. "I'll give it to you when I'm ready."  
"Fine. Now let me put some clothes on-"  
"Wait."  
"What?"  
"I never.... thanked you."  
"You just did just now-"  
"No, for throwing the knife. I could have died. No more Connor Kenway. You would have been rid of me and none of this would've happened-"  
I hold up a hand to stop him. "Repeat that."  
He frowns. "You would have been rid of me-"  
"No, before that."  
"No more Connor Kenway-"  
"There! Kenway. You just said Kenway."  
"So?"  
He doesn't get it. "You never really claimed what you were. It was always just... Connor... or...." I fumble with the pronounciation. "R- Ratonhnhaké:ton."  
"You said it right." He smirks. "We're even. And we still have to go to Boston." He waves a hand and turns to leave.  
I turn back to my room. Now there are three Kenways in the world. Me, my sister (God help the poor sap who marries her.), and.... my son.

Once we have the horses saddled, both me and my father exchange a brief, well, agrument over whether or not to leave Achilles and Surry alone.  
Finally my father turns and raises his voice. "Achilles! Surry!"  
"They won't listen to us." I cross my arms and tilt my head.  
"Are you sure about that?" He rejoins, as Achilles and Surry leave the Homestead and meet us by the road.  
"What's wrong? I thought you'd left for Boston." Achilles looks at both of us, dim realization in his eyes.  
"The Templars may come back. They know where we are now." I say.  
My father scowls. "But what if they know our plans for Boston?" He asks in broken Mohawk.  
I roll my eyes. I didn't know he even spoke my language. "You're such a worrier." I return.  
Surry's gaze darts between us. "What the hell are you two saying?"  
Achilles grins. "Picked it up from Ziio."  
"You read it, too?!" My father sounds alarmed and a little embarrassed.  
I smirk. "Surry hasn't."  
"Just be warned; If I find it I will." She adds. My father gives me a begrudging look and I return to the subject.  
"We're worried the Templars may show up and attack the Homestead again. Apparently Shay remembers where it is and decided that's where he'd look."  
"But he's known that for the last twenty five years, longer. This is the first Templar attack.... ever." Achilles says, with a rough voice.  
"So you'll come?" I ask hopefully.  
"Fine, we will." Achilles looks at Surry. "You're coming with us, then. Who knows what the captain's men will do if they find you...."  
We all shudder at the thought and hitch our horses (I named my new one Rusty and Father named his Pyrate.) to the carriage.  
Once we are ready, we lock the doors of the Homestead and set out for the journey to Boston.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> voil; Definately will!

After a few days in Boston, we arrive back at the Homestead.  
It's in perfect condition. Charles hasn't been back. He knows I have it for sure; I had it with me up until the moment I switched sides. And I still do.  
"What now?" Connor asks, while we unhitch the horses. I shrug and remove Pyrate's saddle. Connor asked why I named him that and I still have no ides myself.  
"We should wait for the Templars to make the first move."  
"You still aren't fully trusted."  
I'm not suprised. No one on any side has any reason to trust me.  
"I am well aware."  
My son gives me a lopsided look. "You don't care."  
"It's not that I don't; I find it a boring subject to debate. When you're ready to trust me, you will."  
I lead Pyrate to the stables, and Connor strides beside me. We're both around the same height, but he's got one inch on me. When and how did he get so damn big?  
"How can you be so sure?" He sounds like he's testing me.  
"Because." I bring the horse to a halt and look him in the eye. "Ziio did."  
He folds his arms across his chest. "She didn't trust you at first."  
"You know how many times I was accused of using her?"  
It's my son's turn to halt. And we aren't even walking. "Were you?"  
"No. You read this in the journal."  
"The answer never changes." His eyes take on a thoughtful look. "Well?"  
"Well, what?"  
"Maybe we should go ask Achilles what to do next."  
I start walking again. "He just seems happy to be home."  
"I am, too." Connor says seriously. He suddenly switches to Mohawk. "Or... we can take the Aquila."  
I stare at the ground for a moment, stringing the right words together. "You mean to go after the Templars? Without his approval?"  
"I'm a grown man." He pouts.  
"So am I, but doesn't make a difference. We should tell him."  
He rolls his eyes. "We'll tell him we're going back to Boston. We missed an Assassin's home. We'll be gone for a week, then back again... artifact in one hand. Charles Lee's head in the other."  
"You know what..... This is the most rebellious I've ever seen you...." I shake my head. "Fine."  
He smiles and me and slaps my should with his hand. "We're being watched. Smile for the painting."  
We both turn and look at Achilles, who stands in the doorway, his arms cross.  
My son and I wave at him, grinning like the idiots we're about to act like.  
"Glad he can't understand us." He mutters. "We're leaving tonight."  
Tonight.  
I don't have second thoughts.

Once we have everything back in order and eat dinner, my father and I join each other in the woods to hunt.  
I'm surpised- he handles my own bow better than I do. We manage to skin a few deer and eventually start the long walk back, our weapons at the ready.  
"So tell me- how exactly do you intend to go about this?" He asks, as we push through the woods. Everything is covered in a light dusting of snow; just enough to bring a cool, fresh feeling to the night.  
"Well...." I turn and smile at him. "I was hoping you'd know."  
"If you're asking about their whereabouts I'm sticking to Boston or New York."  
We were just in Boston. Not so much as a single thief. "We're going to New York, than."  
He stops and grabs my arm. "Here that?"  
I freeze. "It's another deer. Let's go find it- we'll need the meat."  
My father draws his knife and sets off toward the sound. "Are you coming?"  
Right away I remember. About a week ago after the attack, when I came into the woods, I set traps in case of Templars. Traps so well hidden onky I can really find them....  
I am about to open my mouth and warn him when I hear the sharp sound of a rope taughtening and a loud curse.  
It takes a few moments- although all I really need to do is follow the cursing and shouts- but I find him, dangling by one foot from a tree branch.  
His arms are folded and he glares at me- upside down- with a look of dissapproval.  
I take one glance and explode into laughter I can't contain.  
"Connor! How is this funny?!"  
I struggle to keep a straight face. "I'm sorry. But...."  
His eyes widen. "You are not leaving me here."  
I walk around him, my hands clasped behind my back. The rope is wrapped around his ankle, but his face is at chest level. He growls through his teeth in frustration.  
"Please, son."  
I make a sound like I'm considering it. "It's designed to catch Templars."  
"Come now, don't go there."  
So I just laugh again. "Fine, I will."  
Before he can realize what I'm doing, I jump forward and slash the rope with my Hidden Blade.  
He lands on his head with a yelp and sits up, brushing leaves and snow from his hair. "This means war, Connor. If it's pranks you want it's pranks you'll get."  
I help him up and try to supress my laughter. "I doubt it."  
He pulls his hood up and punches the air as we walk back toward the Homestead. "Don't mess with the Kenways."  
We both laugh- Damn- and when we get back to the Homestead, prepare to go to sea in secret.


	16. Chapter 16

Once we arrive at the Homestead with the meat, Connor leaves some for Achilles and we start for the Aquila in silence.  
Well, almost.  
"So what is it like?" He asks.  
"What is it like to what?" I already have a feeling of what he's going to say.  
"You know...." He looks up and studies the Aquila's flag through the thinning trees, fluttering in the wind. "... Being a Templar."  
"Ugh." He gives me a look of suprise. "You heard me. Especially being Grandmaster. You know how many times I wanted to slap Charles? I actually did it once. Would you believe what I got in return."  
"What'd you get in return?" He sounds like a curious schoolchild.  
"Well, he's one of the most slippery bastard you'll ever meet. Didn't stop waking me up late at night for a week, each time with a different approach. 'The Assassins are here!', 'The inn's burning down!'. Once he just spashed cold water on my face and ran out of the room. The worst one was when he stood outside the door and blared 'Ziio!'. By God, I sat up so fast I hit my head on the bed panel.  
"Weren't you able to kick him out of the Order?"  
I sigh. "Difficult. A long process, and he knew it. And, because he knew so much and was considered a 'Valued Member', by Grandmasters from the other countries, I was unable to do so."  
Connor laughs as we near the ship. The crew sleep on the decks, and some work the rigging.  
They regard Connor with revering eyes, then their gaze turns to me and their faces sour.  
"Where's his hat?"  
I ended up going back for that damned thing the day after Connor and I, ah, fell into the river to escape the warehouse. It took me three tries and just as many hours to close my fingers around it.  
"Thought he was Connor's enemy."  
Nice try.  
"Didn't he ram the Aquila into that other ship?"  
Yes, I did. I was a little pressed for time, pardon me.  
Connor nudges my shoulder and takes the wheel. "You've something to prove to them."  
"I'm not exactly used to sailing."  
"Sure you are." He smiles. "It just takes time. We'll be at New York in a few hours."  
Once we're out onto the seas, Connor stands back with one hand against the wheel, staring at a few ships flying the British colors.  
"What's wrong?" I follow his gaze. I'm still too used to seeing them as my allies, but the British ships are Templar owned and operated.  
"Nothing. We'll go right past them....." He shakes himself and turns back to the Aquila. "All sail! Everything we've got!"  
Even though we slip around the ships, I still feel a twinge of unease in my gut to see the British soldiers peering at us with their hands on their muskets.

 

We get to New York around early morning, and instantly my father is alert, looking toward the docks.  
"Already found her." He shakes his head. "Shay isn't learning anytime soon."  
"He was an Assassin." I point out.  
"True." He sighs as we clamber down onto the docks. "He should know I remember his scedule."  
"So where should we look first?" I ask.  
"I'm not sure of that. Inns and taverns first. Then the surrounding countryside. Shay doesn't have anywhere he calls home but his ship."  
"Wait.... what if we boarded the ship and wait for him?" I suggest. He brightens instantly.  
"Alright... we'll need a way up." He scans the ships. "Up for some climbing?"  
***  
"This isn't exactly boarding." I say. In front of me, my father almost looses his balance on the mast and makes a sound I would guess was a squeak.  
"I know it's not, but we can wait for them up there. The crew won't see us that way."  
The logic of this plan is this; We find a ship that's sails almost intersect with the Morrigan's, and climb onto her sails from those. Our ship, the one we're climbing, is called the Lucky Star.  
My father stands and leaps onto the Morrigan's sails, then turns and motions to me. I follow suit and within a few minutes we both lay near the crow's nest, on our bellies, waiting for our targets.  
***  
It took all day.  
We pulled our hoods up around noon and continued waiting, eating a small lunch of smoked meat.  
Finally, near sundown, the Assassin Hunter and Charles board the ship, heading for the wheel.  
I sit forward and strain to hear.  
".... this Precursor site... it could be dangerous..." Shay says in a low voice.  
"We're going." Charles says firmly.  
Shay turns on him. "No! What happened at Lisbon and Haiti will happen again-"  
Charles suddenly grab's the Hunter's arm, twisting it sharply.  
Even from up here, my father and I wince. His wrist made an abnormal popping sound.  
Shay groans and stays out of arm's reach, cradling his hand.  
"Stop your blathering about that! We need to get that key back from Haytham and get there before they find out about that!" Charles snarls.  
"He loves the Order, not the people in it." My father whispers. His eyes hold anger and pity when he looks at Shay. "Why doesn't he leave?"  
"Now...." Charles says slowly. "You will come with me to find Haytham and his son. We'll take the amulet and go to the Precursor site, and you will be the one to unlock its mysteries."  
"Do you wear the amulet?" I ask my father.  
He nods. "Yes."  
I shift to move into a more comfortable position, and as I do, my arrow quiver- hastily tied onto my back- tips, sending its contents showering down the mast.  
The reaction is intant.  
Shay, forgetting his injured wrist, shoves Charles aside and yanks his rifle from his back, taking aim at the crow's nest.  
My father pushs me back before I even realized what I did, and stands.  
Right away his hands fly to his neck and he stumbles over the side of the crow's nest before I can reach him.  
Well, there's only one good thing that happens.  
He lands on one of the crewmen.  
Charles laughs and I watch in horror as the crewman pushes my father off him and kicks his side. There is a dart sticking out from his neck, and Shay stalks forward, pulling it out with a vicious tug.  
"He's wearing the amulet!" Charles shouts. "Take it, Shay!"  
Something makes me look to the side.  
Lo and behold, he left the amulet on the wood for me.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shotthroughtheheart; Thanks for the heads up :D

They didn't even give me the dignity of waking up on my own.  
After what seems like a few seconds of total blackness, something smacks my cheek and a crack of brilliant, bright white pain explodes behind my eyelids.  
I stubbornly refuse to open my eyes, knowing it's probably Charles Lee, his face twisted in a grimace of anger.  
The image of that actually frightens me awake, and I lift my head, gritting my teeth and preparing myself for another blow.  
That doesn't come.  
Instead, my eyes meet Shay's, and he crouches in front of me, his head titled to one side. I shift my gaze past him and study my surroundings; they've wasted no time bringing me into the captain's cabin. My hands are bound behind my back, and I'm propped against the wall of the ship. At least they left my feet free. Shay's right in the way if I decide to kick like an unbroken mule.  
"How much was in that dart?" Charles stands near the door, his arms crossed. Not as much as what me and my son intend to give you, you little-  
"Only enough to keep him out for an hour." Shay's voice is low and he sounds completely spent. Who wouldn't, with Lee knocking around like he owns the place.... Oh, right, my apologies.  
He does.  
"I'd appreciate it if you'd talk about me like I'm actually here." I murmur.  
"Just tell us where the amulet is." The Hunter engages his Hidden Blade.  
The muscles in my arm tighten at the memory, and when I don't hear the familiar 'snick', my heart drops. Unarmed. Then again, it's to be expected. They are Templars after all.  
"If he doesn't talk...." Lee looks at the door with a sardonic grin. "We'll kill his boy."  
That raises a red flag. I sit forward, and Shay guides me back with the tip of his blade, gently pushing it against my throat.  
"Don't." I growl.  
"Don't what?" Charles asks innocently. The same sickly sweet tone he used to use with me. What a fucking-  
"Grandmaster, all due respect, you really aren't helping." The Irishman before me twists his head aside, momentarily taking his gaze off me.  
Bad idea- I kick his ankles out from under him (He was only crouching, precariously balanced on the balls of his feet.) and push myself to my knees, trying to pull my hands apart with sheer muscle. Which doesn't work, of course, but it's really all I can do.  
While Shay tries to right himself, Charles almost casually draws his pistol, walks forward, and presses the barrel to my forehead.  
Ah, well. Fun while it lasted.  
"I should have killed you just for this. How long were you having second thoughts for the Order? Why switch now, of all times. Now, when we're in such a powerful position, poised to rule the New World!" He sounds mad. Not angry mad, but... fanatical mad. "You are lucky you don't have the amulet, otherwise you would be dead by now, do you hear me? Dead."  
Shay's pushed himself to his feet and stands with his wrist cradled to his belly. I must have reignited the pain from earlier.  
"Grandmaster...." He trails off as Charles lowers the pistol, our eyes locked. Then he grasps my chin tightly and forces me to look at Shay.  
"You see him? There is an example of a miracle. A good man. Began a path of treachery and deceit, only to be stopped and shown the true way of things. The Order of Templars." Charles lowers his voice and I give Shay my best grin.  
"You have my regards."  
This infuriates Lee and he jerks my head back to face him. "You are an example of a mistake. The only thing keeping your heart besting is the amulet, and if you don't tell us where it is, by God, your son will be the one who suffers. He will watch you die and then he will follow."  
The Assassin Hunter suddenly leaves the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him.  
Charles shoves my head back and clenches his teeth, then stalks out, calling Shay's name.  
He leaves me alone to sit and wonder if he was bluffing about my son. He better be, because no one thought to tie my feet and I'm positive there's something sharp enough to cut through rope in this room.

I remain above the Morrigan, my mind racing.  
The amulet is clutched to my chest, and it grows warm when I think of it. I wonder if that's why he kept it. Because it reminds him of Mother? Or the warmth?  
I watched them for some time after Shay lifted my father over his shoulder and went into the captain's cabin, feeling rather embarrassed my father had to take the punishment for my error.  
By now his crew has plucked all my arrows from the deck and thrown them overboard, a sight that makes me rather angry.  
After about an hour or so Shay leaves the captain's cabin and sits on the steps leading to the wheel, his injured wrist against his belly like it's beginning to hurt again.  
Charles exits not long after, shouting his name and cursing Shay when he sees the Hunter didn't respond on purpose.  
I strain my ears and wonder if my father knows I'm alright. I know he is alive; I understand his plan now. Because my quiver spilled its arrows, he took the blame for it, knowing Charles thought he was in possession of the amulet. He left the amulet here, a reassurance he won't be killed- if he had taken it with him they would have taken it and killed him. As it is, he is alive because he knows where it is. Or so the Templars are convinced.  
".... Eventually." Shay's head is bowed.  
Charles stands in front of him, his arms crossed. "How long does it normally take to pry information from someone?"  
"A few days at most. But I'll have to kill him eventually." He repeats.  
Charles laughs. "Maybe you won't have to. I hope to kill him someday for his treachery. As long as he thinks we have his son, it's a matter of time, and only that."  
Shay suddenly looks up, his eyes wide. "Sir, did he have a quiver on his back?"  
"A quiver? What do you mean? He didn't look like he was shaking-"  
"No. A quiver. Used to hold arrows."  
Charles slowly turns, his beady eyes darting over the deck of the Morrigan. "Connor Kenway!"  
I curse under my breath. He knows. Then again, it was rather obvious, but....  
"If you don't come out, we'll kill him!" He shouts.  
I feel for my quiver and desperately hope that there is an arrow there. Just one, just one...  
There is.  
I remove my bow and fit the arrow into it, drawing back my arm as I stand.  
My aim will have to be true and my arm quick; the Assassin Hunter is standing and taking aim with his rifle.  
I fix Charles- he's frantically trying to hide behind Shay- in my sight and breath in.  
Breath out.  
The arrow cuts through the air, and it strikes Charles in the gut, although it's far enough off to the side to be considered a nick.  
Still, I pride myself on my aim even as Shay's rifle discharges, sending a dart into my shoulder that paralyzes me instantly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> voil; What happened? (If it's not too late.)  
> Shay's Ass Tho; 2 things 1) I agree with your name if it's AC related 2) Yeah Shay's had years of practice, especially with the rifle.  
> missiur; Definately having second thoughts. Anyone would, after Lisbon. And Charles is your basic run-of-the-mill douchebag. :)

They've been gone for an awfully long time now.  
I'm beginning to feel concerned they really do have my son, considering that loud thump that just interupted my rifling through Shay's cabin for something to cut the rope around my wrists.  
Well, I wouldn't call it rifling- my hands are bound, after all. Just looking. Maybe he was prepared for this beforehand, because I can't find anything sharp.  
There's a loud shout (Alright, it's time to admit that the way Gist insists on announcing everything in some sort of strange, loudly obnoxiousvoice always makes me want to burst into laughter.) from Gist, "Nice aim, Connor! He landed on John!"  
Hm. So Charles was bluffing.  
I growl impatiently and scan the room one last time before sitting down with my back to the table, in my previous position. They should be bringing Connor in soon.  
The edge of the table digs uncomfortably into my wrist and I move to one side, freezing at the sound the rope makes.  
So.  
Why didn't I think of this before?  
I curse under my breath and start to saw my wrists slowly back and forth against the wood. I'll have to try and be discreet because there are footsteps coming toward the door.  
Shay bursts in, my son slung across his shoulder, Charles coming in after him and slamming the door loudly. He looks like the happiest man alive, although blood seeps from a wound in his side. No doubt made by an arrow, but it seems to be only a flesh wound.  
Rather than toss Connor against the wall beside me, the Hunter lowers him from his shoulder and gently eases him onto the wall, much to my relief. Although there was no reason for him to be gentle whatsoever. His face is completely blank, save his eyes, weary and angry at the same time. I wonder of he can be turned back to the Assassins.  
"Guess what we found?" Charles grins- I just realized he's missing soem teeth- holding up the amulet. I pretend a surge of anger doesn't rip through me and continue sawing, my movements unnoticable.  
"You boy should have been more accurate." Shay's voice is low.  
Charles turns on him. "Was that a threat?"  
"No, sir."  
"That was a threat."  
"On my honor, sir."  
"You know what we do to those who threaten their superiors?"  
Shay's eyes flash with something dangerously close to fear and he stands up. "What should we do with them?"  
"I could lock you away for that. No one would care, likely." Charles ignores the way Shay is eyeing his sword and knife and crouches, all too eager to stick the amulet in my face. "You and your son are of no more use to us."  
Keep. Sawing.  
"What should we do with you?"  
The rope slips off my wrists and I smile. The smile turns to an obnoxious grin.  
"Well, maybe you'd like to be shot? Or shall we throw you off a cliff?"  
Charles suddenly stops and looks to Connor, who lies against the wall limply, his eyes closed. No, no, don't look at him. Look at me. Leave him alone.  
"Or," He begins, " We could burn the village."  
I lunge forward, wrapping my hands around his throat and throwing him to the floor.  
The amulet skitters away from us, scraping softly against the wooden floor.  
Right away strong hands close beneath my arms, and Shay picks me up- This is awkward- and tosses me against the wall with an angry growl.  
Charles sits up, his fingers around his throat, breathing hard. Shay kneels beside him, gazing at me with a look of hatred. Deep within those brown eyes, though, however filled with hate, there lurks curiosity.  
Out of the corner of my eye I note that Connor has begun to stir.  
"The amulet. He can't have the amulet." Charles gasps.  
I simply sit back against the wall and pretend to have used my strength. I still have a lot left, and most of it is fueled by anger, and something close to retribution for Ziio.  
"He doesn't." Shay snatches the amulet from the floor, and helps Charles up, offering it to him.  
"Now." Charles murmurs. He draws his sword and presses the tip to my nose, then travels down to my mouth, cutting my lip, then pauses at my throat.  
I want to spring up and beat both of them, but something stays my fists. Hope for Shay, questions for Charles. I need him alive if we're to know what the Templars have discovered.  
Once we know, however....  
He dies.

A wonderful thing to wake up to, seeing one Templar fixing another in an icy gaze of pure hate.  
What's not wonderful is that my father is being held at swordpoint.  
"The only reason I'm not killing you both- you're to be hanged at the gallows within a few days. Gist has seen to it." Charles says slowly.  
I am content to watch how this plays out. My hands are bound tightly together, but I can see my father's hands aren't. I wonder why.  
The sword is replaced in its sheath with a flurish and Charles presses a hand to his side, the hand holding the amulet. He looks at Shay and nods.  
"See to it he's restrained again. Make sure there's no way of escape." Then he leaves, shouting for doctor because his side hurts.  
The Hunter crouches by Father- who looks at him like he wants to say something- and then sighs, standing and going to sift through the desk for something to use as restraints.  
Instead of getting up, my father watches him. Carefully.  
"What have you done?" Shay says softly, crouching back in front of him. Before doing anything, he clasps my father's chin in his hand and tilts it from side to side, studying the cut on his mouth. "That'll leave a scar. Don't piss him off like that again."  
"That amulet. What's it for? What have you found?" My father asks quickly.  
Shay lifts the rope and grabs his shoulder, turning him around. I notice my father doesn't make it easy for Shay to bind his hands, but the Hunter says nothing.  
Nothing, until, "Never divulge the true nature of our work. Even in the face of death."  
"What has Charles done to the Order?"  
Shay finishes tying his hands and sits back, taking a knife from his belt and carefully placing it on a table a few feet from me. An implied threat? Or something else?  
"Wrecked it. Singlehandedly destroyed it."  
New York has seemed to be rough-looking, lately.  
"That's not the worst." My father says curtly.  
Shay shrugs. "He hasn't got the best temper...."  
"He's beaten everyone." I say. "Gist had marks on him, too." I remember. Everyone on the Morrigan looks drawn and weary.  
"Yeah, well." The Hunter stands and looks at the door. "A precursor site. Another precursor site."  
Then he leaves, closing the door with a finalized slam.  
"Did he just....?" I begin.  
"Answer our question and leave a means of escape?" My father chuckles. "He did."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay's Ass Tho; Here it îs- I'll try to keep updates quick, so there's no really big gaps between chapters.

Despite our excitement, we both simply sit and stare at the knife on the table like two idiots.  
Well, considering the situation we're in, we are.  
"This is the problem. Even if we do get off the ship, we need the amulet." Connor stamds and slowly walks over to the table, turning so he can grip the knife handle in one hand and slowly cut the rope on his wrists. Should I tell him about the plan that had been almost- unconciously forming in my mind?  
"What if we follow them?" I ask.  
"Follow them? No, Charles will recognize-" His hands come free and he smiles at me. "Unless we don't take the Aquila."  
Um. "What do you mean?"  
Connor sits down and starts to cut at the rope on my hands. "Think about it, Father. All we have to do is linger long enough to know when they plan to set sail for this Precursor site. Once we know, we can, say, borrow, a merchant's ship and keep at heel."  
"Oh, brilliant, we're going to do wonderfully sailing a merchant's ship through solid ice." It comes out sounding sarcastic. Which it was, of course, but he lets it slip.  
"If where they're going is somewhere higher in the Northern Atlantic, we should be able to follow in the Morrigan's path through the ice. She's designed for it, right?"  
"Yes." I rub my wrists and we both stand up, sweeping our eyes around the room. The plan makes perfect sense, although we'll have to keep far enough out of their sight that they won't know. Or maybe.... I turn to him. "If Shay's really with us, and we leave a note, he'll understand. Surely."  
"You'll inform him of our plan?"  
"Gist will follow his captain's footsteps. We can count on the entire crew just skipping over us when they look out to see."  
Connor slips the knife into the sash at his waist- Apparently not realizing the posibility of it falling out and embedding itself in his foot- and nods after a while. "Fine. But hurry. We need to do some sluething of our own before leaving the ship."  
After a brief search for a quill- classical of Shay, he owns an inkewell and paper but the quill is buried under layers of Templar books, weapons, and a few crates of rum. I scrawl out a note and leave it tucked away in a place only he can see, above one of the bookselves. Charles is rather small compared to him.  
Then I turn back and grin. "How shall we do this? Waltz out onto the deck and demand answers?"  
He looks toward the door. "Weapons first."  
"Forget them. We'll find new ones." I motion to the bow on his back. "We'll both work on some arrows when we get back."  
Connor sighs sadly and we carefully move to either side of the door, our ears pressed to the wood.  
"Come on, Grandmaster! There's a tavern down not too far from here! Owned by an Irishman and a fair lady from Germany!" Gist booms. I'll never get over that voice. The crew shouts their agreement, and after a moment's silence, Charles responds.  
"Now show me where it is...."  
His voice fades and soon the Morrigan is seemingly deserted.  
Connor nods at me and, his left hand curled into a fist ready to punch, he pulls open the door.  
A few crewman, including Shay, lounge near the cannons. Upon seeing us, they look out over the docks and pretend to be extremely interested in the Spanish flag gracing the ship a few dozen feet away.  
Connor looks at me with one eyebrow raised. "I guess they understand what may happen."  
"What will happen," I say gently.  
"And I suppose you're siding with Templars again?"  
"No, it's more... moral than that." I respond, walking off the ship. He follows, keeping his gaze on the Templars who are now entering the tavern. "What happened in Haiti and Lisbon- and another location, although for a certain someone's sake I won't reveal that- will happen again. It doesn't make either side right or wrong. Thousands of people lost their lives. It was and is no one's fault."  
Connor goes quiet for a while, and he is the first to speak when we near a ship that actually had an ice ram, contrary to what we decided.  
After several minutes of heated argument in Italian- the owner was from there himself- and several strange looks from my son, we stand at the ship's helm.  
"Took you long enough," he says, watching the owner stalk off in a frustrated huff with a small smile on his lips.  
"Yes, well, he wanted to make if very clear she's not to have a scuff on her."  
"And if she does?"  
"We won't be able to have children."  
He shudders. "Who would want kids?"  
I give him a condescending look. "You're asking me? You're a product of me and your mother, you know. That was very important to me."  
"Yes, but...." He looks out over the ship's deck and shrugs. "Maybe one day."  
"You better have kids. There are only three Kenways left. Me, you, and the old prick back home. Only, don't tell her I called her that. She's the only person I know who can hang someone just by sending them a letter."  
He laughs. "I'll keep that in mind."

It takes hours- we get familiar with the crewman (Or rather, my father does. The crew is composed of several different nationalities and is delighted to hear the French, Italian, German and Spanish from him.) until we see Charles and his mates stumble back toward the Morrigan. I note with a twinge of humor that Charles has red cheeks, like he's just been slapped.  
"That's a sight worth seeing." My father says.  
"Think they're going to leave tonight?" I ask. The tiny figure of Shay has emerged from the captain's cabin and waves a piece of paper around,'presumably so we can see, before Charles is within view. Then he folds it and slips it into his coat.  
"He got the note-" there's an argument among the crew and my father rolls his eyes and barks something in German- "so we can leave anytime they do."  
"Not one Mohawk." I grumble. He smiles.  
"I'll teach you some of the languages I know when we get back. It'll be easier to navigate the world that way."  
"Hey." I grasp his arm as the Morrigan's sails go up and she is eased back out into the sea. After a flurry of movement we get to our post- Father as quartermaster- and follow suit. "Do you think they've really found a Precursor site?" I ask.  
"Who knows? We have no reason to believe Shay is lying to us."  
"Yes, but... they're all Templars."  
"Templar and Assassin are labels, son. People don't have to simply fall in one category."  
"You, for example."  
"And your mother. There was a brief time...." He trails off and I turn to find him looking off into the distance.  
"A brief time?" I ask.  
"Yes... she came to me with a Hidden Blade. Not hers officially, you see. I later figured out she was being trained."  
It would explain lots of things. During the winter, there was always a slight bulge in the arm of her coat. Whenever I asked her about it, she smiled and simply said it was 'defense'.  
But that was years ago.  
I fix my eyes on the Morrigan's flag and clamp my teeth together. "Charles will die."  
"I should hope so. Otherwise we're in trouble."  
There is less sarcasm in him, now. Lots of the things he says are jokes that point out serious things. I wonder, if he had been like this, instead of the still backed Templar he used to be, would Mother have stayed with him? Would she have... stayed alive?  
I growl through my teeth and look at my father with determination. "When we get to the site, what do we do?"  
"Well." He shrugs. "Keep in mind that aside from the anti-pirate weapons belowdeck, we are unarmed. And I would like to see Charles killed personally."  
"And the Assassin Hunter?"  
"He lives. The crew untouched, including Gist. By now they recognize us as allies."  
"Oh?"  
"Only for the time being.... well, maybe in the future."  
I nod, looking out to sea at the ship before us. Already the ice is beginning to make itself known; staying in the Morrigan's path is our best bet to not making noise and drawing attention to ourselves- attention from Charles.  
But, for the time being, we are at peace.


	20. Chapter 20

After a few days at sea, my son notes that the Morrigan seems to be approaching a small island a few miles off the coast of Boston, one he's passed many times before.  
"What do they call it?"  
"The island? There's no name for it. It's too rocky to live there, and no fish inhabit the sea around it. And odd occurance, and a bad omen to the fishermen."  
"Oh." I repond, sounding on my own ears a little dumb. Connor shouts at the crew to bring us up some swords, but we both know without our hidden blades, this can go more than one way.  
"It's the perfect place to put one of those Precursor sites. Barren and rocky, too forested for any clear vision. It's somewhere Charles should die."  
I nod, understanding his yearning for revenge. But, we have to wait. Stop him from activating the Precursor site first, and get the amulet back. Not just because it's a powerful weapons in the hands of the Templars, but because of Ziio.  
"Let's wait until we see Charles leave the ship. We'll have to follow him." Connor says.  
"Alone." The crew deserves a chance of escape if Lee brings the island down.  
"Alone." He agrees after a moment of silence. "I suppose you've had some sort of experiance with these beforehand?"  
"Yes." I reply. My son doesn't push the issue.  
The ship stops at the island after dark, and we watch Charles Lee leave with a small party, including the Assassin Hunter and Gist, through the spyglass.  
Then Connor brings us in close, almost right beside the Morrigan. Her crew continues their routine without a second thought. After handing off the wheel, with the promise that we will be back in less than four hours, my son and I swim to the shore and slip into the forest quietly.  
Even though he had a head start, it isn't long before we see the lone flicker of a lantern through the thick foliage.  
"Eagle Vision will help," Connor whispers, and I watch his eyes flash gold. I activate mine- my father taught me to really 'open my eyes' to something he called the Sight, and I've used it ever since- and through the dull blue-gray of our surroundings, I see Charles. Unlike the rest of his supposed allies, who glow a red outlined in blue, Charles Lee is gold.  
Ahead of us, I can see the white of heiroglyphs inscribed on some kind of cave, and draw in a sharp breath. It l looks just like the one near Boston-  
"Father...." Connor taps my shoulder, and with my concentration broken, the Eagle Vision disappears- although the people before us remain highlighted where I can see their movements. "Are you alright?"  
"Sure, fine." I mumble, watching Charles march to the hieroglyphs and hold up the amulet. The highlights fade, and all we're left with is the sound of something heavy, something big, moving.  
"Let's go." He whispers.  
I watch him start forward, boldly, and then follow. Together we move toward what seems to be the cave entrance, although we freeze when we hear someone speak.  
"Why don't we leave the door open?" Gist asks.  
"Why? So the Assassins can follow us?" Charles. Definately Charles.  
"No. You know what will happen-" The Hunter is cut off abruptly.  
"Can happen, Shay. Can. Not will."  
"Fine. What can happen. It's best we leave it open so we have a quick means of escape."  
Silence. We inch forward, and finally see everyone clearly in front of the cave. The door is open, and there are steps that lead into darkness, darkness that will work well for me and Connor, not so well for the Templars.  
".... I'm holding you accountable is we find ourselves in the sharp end of an Assassin's blade tonight. Both of you." With that, Charles turns and stalks off, snatching the lantern from a crew member's stunned hands and disappearing down the steps.  
After a few heartbeats of silent snickers and grins, Shay looks around and lowers his voice. "You can come out now, G- Haytham."  
Connor punches my arm and we both move out of the safety of the trees.  
"I can't believe we're working with Assassins." Gist mutters.  
"Get down here!" Charles shouts. His voice wafts up and sounds more raspy than ever, and I can see everyone fighting the urge to throw a rock down the steps and shout for him to shut up.  
"Stay behind us." Shay says, then turns and starts down toward the site. His crew follows wordlessly, and then Connor and I.  
"You're sure we can trust them?" He whispers.  
"Keep one hand in your sword, just in case. But if you've noticed, they're not pure red like most of your enemies. Think on that."  
"How reassuring."

We descend the steps slowly, stopping only to keep each other from tripping.  
The granite walls turn black and opaque, which allows for slipping. Twice Gist slipped and almost sent everyone tumbling down the stairs, to land in a heap at Lee's feet.  
The thought of Lee, and his closeness, makes the muscles in my left arm tighen, but my hidden blade is not strapped on, and it sends disappointment through me.  
"Patience." My father mutters.  
Only a few moments later Shay stops us with a hand, then leads everyone else down to the chamber below, where the lantern's light bounces off the walls and floors like little suns. Father and I stay just out of its light.  
"The site is just over there, beyond the bridge and past that maze." Charles says. "Only Shay and Gist will come; the rest of you louts stay here."  
"Why-" Gist begins.  
"To keep the Assassins away, of course. And because of Shay's excellent navigation skills, what with that posh Eagle-thing. Beyond the bridge it's a right maze, see?"  
My father smiles. "I never taught Charles how to 'open his eyes'."  
I'm glad.  
The light begins to fade, and the crew mutters things under their breath as they watch the trio cross the bridge. After a shout and yelp of pain (Maybe someone from the crew fell? Doesn't seem like it; I think Shay has begun to rebel.) the room goes quiet.  
We wait until they've fully gone- I have to ask one of the crew in a low whisper if they've vanished from view yet.- before descending the last steps.  
The cavern is massive and arches above our heads. It is held up by what looks like more obsidian, and a wide, hundred-foot gap lies between us and the  
several doors on the other side.  
My father approaches the ledge's edge and peers down with round eyes. "Imagine if that bridge breaks."  
I follow his gaze and swallow. There's no bottom in sight; just blackness.  
"Hey," someone says, "I'd get going if I was you. I don't think the captain'll keep his temper in check much longer."  
My father draws himself up and removes his sword, then slowly, carefully, walks across the bridge. I am more tense than he is, and pause at every little creak in the wood.  
Once we're across, I activate my Eagle Vision, and see the farthest doorway glow gold.  
We look into it, and my father curses. Charles was right. It is a maze, one that is clearly only designed for people with Eagle Vision- there are markings to direct us, only visible if I use my Sight. That, or a ten foot tall person that can peer over the stone walls, although his head would scrape the ceiling.  
"Come on." My father's eyes flash gold and he starts forward, looking down, not up. Down? I activate my own again and follow his view.  
Something glows white- blood. So that was the yelp. I wonder who's bleeding- and hope it's Charles.  
Several minutes and a few dead ends later, we step out of the maze into a room that looks almost the exact same as the one before. Except this time, the bridge is stone, and the Precursor site is at the end. Charles stands with the amulet around his neck, shouting something at Gist, who stand with his hands at his sides, looking down. The Assassin Hunter is behind them, blood dripping from a large cut on the back of his hand. He stares at the artefact with a look of hate, seemingly immune when Gist doesn't react to Charles' berating, and Lee turns on him instead.  
And it's no wonder. Aside from the artefact- which looks the exact same as the one Shay stopped before- there is an amulet-sized depression in the pedestal that hasn't been there at the other sites.  
"You can't make me turn back after all this work- because of your cowardice! Look at it, Shay. You're the one who has to do it; you have the Eagle Vision. Or, how about I knock it over for you?" Charles sneers.  
The Hunter stares into Lee's eyes, and is quiet for a while.  
"Uh-oh." Father whispers. He sounds amused.  
Suddenly Shay snaps, jumping forward and wrapping his arm tightly around Lee's throat. Gist lunges to the left and yanks the amulet off with a roar of anger.  
I draw out my tomahawk and start forward, over the bridge. My father is more hesitant, but soon follow.  
"You... you... traitors." Charles gasps. His face is red, and Shay twists sharply to one side, so his feet swing out over the gap. "Working with the Assassins-"  
"Are you sure we're the traitors?" Gist asks.  
Shay is quiet, but there is something close to a satisfied glint in his eyes as he dangles Lee's feet treacherously over the edge.  
"No!" Father shouts.  
"Why?" Coms the angry reply. "You know what he's done?!"  
"Yes, I do. But he's taken more from me than my dignity, unlike you." My father's eyes slide to the cut on Shay's hand, which still oozes blood. "Unhand him, Shay."  
And he does, flinging the Grandmaster onto the cold stone floor. I step up near Gist and hold out my hand for the amulet. He gives it to me and backs away.  
My father crouches over Charles. "You deserve to die tonight, you understand."  
Charles nods. Eyes wide and hair tangled. He looks like a wild dog.  
"You aren't." My father draws his sword and plunges it into Charles' foot. He screams, chokes, and passes out from the pain.  
"Why let him live?" Gist asks quietly.  
"He'll not soon leave this island alive, that's why."  
Shay kicks Lee's side angrily. "Now you have your amulet. And he his life."  
I turn the amulet over in my hand, thinking of my mother. Then I give it to Father and nod.  
"We part ways here." I say, then turn and leave.  
"Wait-" Shay closes his hand around my father's elbow. "The crew and I- thank you. Are you sure...."  
"No, Shay. You know what you're asking me." Father draws away, then follows me to the maze. He looks back at Gist and Shay, who stand in the light of the lantern, watching us go.  
Then we leave the island.


	21. Chapter 21

The round trip took us about a week.  
I try not to grimace too much at the thought of Achilles' soon-to-come verbal barrage as I shoulder through the door. Connor told me about his first outing with the Aquila, and how that went.  
We find him sitting in the living room, his eyes fixed on a newspaper.  
Connor and I stand there, hearing Surry clatter around in the kitchen, making something that smells delicious.  
When Achilles finally does speak, we're both suprised with what he says.  
"Have you read the paper lately? Or at least heard the heralds shouting the news of the last few days?"  
I look at Connor. He nudges my shoulder, and we both have a shoulder-nudging argument about who gets the head eaten off himself, until I finally speak up.  
"No... why?"  
"Well." Achilles begins slowly. "It seems they found Charles Lee on an island yesterday, a forsaken one."  
"Hm." Connor grunts. Satisifed, we turn to leave.  
"And what a state he was in."  
We both freeze, our eyes going wide. Did the Hunter give in to his rage?  
"It appears someon cut off his, well, what makes him a man." Achilles puts the paper down.  
Holden flashes through my mind. Despite my anger at Charles, long repressed, I feel a little pity for him. I make a mental note to beat the Hunter within an inch of his life, should I meet him again.  
"Now, where have you been?" Achilles asks.  
"Just... out." Connor says gruffly.  
"Please, boy," Achilles huffs, "I know you both better than that. Don't give me that shite. You put Lee on that island."  
"Uh... we actually didn't." I murmur. "He was just... already there.... and all we did was stab him through the foot."  
"The foot... then how did....." Achilles narrows his eyes at Connor. "You didn't do anything else to him?"  
"No." Connor replies.  
"Well, I doubt he took his own cock and balls-"  
At those words, Connor and I both smile, and he sees right through us.  
"You know who did? Come on, out with it, so I can find them and give them a reward."  
"Um...." Connor shrugs meekly. "You won't like this."  
"I've probably liked worse."  
"Father will tell you."  
"Real kind.... it's not who you'd... It's the Hunter. Shay."

Achilles just nods. "I figured as much. Well, this is an advantage for the Assassin's Creed. The Order is weak without a leader.... despite the stupidity of your, say, outing, the results are pleasing."  
I think of the Hunter's henchman and shake my head. Gist will no doubt take charge, if he doesn't. But it isn't our buisiness.  
A little while later finds my father and I on a clifftop not far from the homestead. There are scuffs and smudges of black in the rocks, as the years have worn the marks away. The remnants of Chevalier's mortar bombardment, Achilles tells me. It is where the Hunter jumped, where Father and I climbed up in one of our first acts done... together. We stand with our hoods up, silently observing the ocean, and the Aquila. Well, silently observing, until my father walks to the edge, places the heel of his boot on a boulder, and grins, reminding me of Washington. Speaking of Washington, the war will soon call us back. The delegates have met in Philidelphia, and our future is decided, if only we have the strength, the courage, to fight for it.  
"This is worth protecting from British hands. Don't you think?"  
I smile. "British? Aren't you British? With your accent and all...."  
My father shakes his head. "Your grandfather, Edward... He was Welsh. And this is a London accent you're hearing. The city, not the crown. And... London was in a poor state when I left."  
I wonder if I can tell him about the letter I plan to write to his sister. Probably not.  
"Well... Yes. It's worth protecting." I nod, and turn to leave. There is an axe we use for chopping wood near the Homestead. Ordinarily I'd use my tomahawk, but it belongs to the first Assassin who ever made it into the colonies. Not something I want to leave out for elements, if it can be helped.  
My father trots alongside me. "You're going to bury an axe in a tree."  
"You have very good observational skills."  
He laughs softly. "Your mother did it once. Scared me half to death, I thought she was going to murder me."  
"Did she now?"  
"Well, apparently I made her angry only seconds after she decided she was going to war with the British. My timing was terrible."  
I remove the axe and find the nearest tree, visible from my room, visible from his room, and visible from the road. After a moments hesitation, I hand it to my father.  
"You do it." I've removed the other axe I had in the Homestead's wall. That war, the internal one, is over. My father and I are at peace.  
He nods and hefts it up, his gray eyes turning flinty and determind.  
The axe whistles through the air and buries itself in the wood to the hilt, where it stays, quivering at first, in anticipation for the war to come.  
My father and I nod to each other, turn, and walk back to the Homestead.


End file.
